


Singing Song For Song

by cleo4u2, Hopeless--Geek (wuzzy90), xantissa



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Art, Blow Job, Dark fic, M/M, Physical Abuse, RBB, Rough Sex, Violence, creature AU, creature!bucky, dub con, glass blower!Steve, happy endings, it’s not but people could be triggered, magical lube, mention of people being eaten, past sam/steve, so this is the warning, supernatural sizzling romance, weird marriage customs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 00:42:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11024988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wuzzy90/pseuds/Hopeless--Geek, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: It wasn’t a dream.His sheets smelled of salt water. His hair was crusted with it after he’d never washed off after stumbling back to his home from the beach. There would be sand in his entry way. His neighbor’s boat would be gone.It wasn’t a dream.He had been breathing underwater. It had given him an asthma attack.The proof of his body going through something was so clear, it was still more than a little hard to believe that he had met some kind of underwater, mystical creature and had sex with it. Him. Underwater





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always and most importantly, thanks to the Glow Cloud herself, the wonderful [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/profile) \- ALL HAIL - for her awesometastic beta skills.
> 
> For those who don’t know, an Undine is a fae of the sea, or a sea faerie

 

 

 

Steve didn’t know what was it that called him out of his rented seaside home every night. Two hours after sunset, every evening, there was this…something. It felt like a sound, but his ears couldn't hear it. Yet it was there, because every day he went out and stared into the restless sea. He could admire the beauty of the fierce waves driven by the harsh winds one day and the almost eerie stillness of the water the next, but he wasn’t a sailor. He had never sailed, never owned a boat. The most he’d ever done was swim in the warm shallows. Yet it wasn’t the shallows that called to him. It was the deep, the night-dark waters behind the jagged rocks in the distance.

Tonight, he found himself untying the small fishing boat his neighbor kept moored to the private pier jutting out from the beach between their homes. Even though he was doing it for the first time in his life, it wasn’t hard to figure out how the oars worked to make the boat move. The still sea became softer, even calmer, despite the wind whipping against his face as he labored to take the boat where he wanted. His shoulders and chest burned, but he kept on, aiming at the rocks that had called to him for days now. All discomfort - the cold night wind, the spray chilling and soaking his clothes, the burn in his arms and palm - didn’t matter, didn’t register. There was just that bone-deep _need_ to be there; only that mattered.

A long, low scrape sounded from the hull of the little wooden boat, but Steve didn’t recognize its meaning. Not until it happened a second and third time, and his little boat jolted sideways. Even then he didn’t stop rowing, his purpose overshadowing everything, even that small, weak voice in the back of his mind telling him it was wrong.

_Everything_ was wrong.

The still waters boiled beneath his boat, the wind whipping waves from the once-calm sea and pushing his little boat toward the jagged rocks just beneath the surface of the water, tearing the old wood as if it was tissue paper. Yet Steve felt no fear. Even as he felt the water cover his feet and begin to climb up to his calves, all he could think was that he hadn’t _gotten there_ yet. He needed to be _closer_. Even as the boat shattered around him and a wave so big it blocked out the moon, took him, and his boat under, he felt nothing but the pull of the rocks.

Kicking, Steve dropped his oar and tried to get there, where he needed to be, but the tide yanked at him, pulling him down, not closer. Down and down as his lungs burned, and his eyes stung, and the light of the moon became just a glimmer in the dark.

Then something wrapped about his ankle and a dull, blue glow pierced the sea. He found himself floating several feet above the sea floor, and staring down in the most haunting, grey eyes that he had ever seen framed by long, dark hair that floated on the suddenly gentle current. Either the strange light was playing tricks with his eyes, or the man’s skin was a shimmery silver-green; fingers darkening to emerald; and short, bristly fins, the same color as his fingers, protruded from the back of his forearms and calves, spanning the length of the appendages. Powerful, well-muscled appendages.

The quiet, panicking part of his mind wondered how this man - was he a man? - had gotten down here, how he was breathing - perhaps the gills that seemed to be cut into his cheekbones? - but his own lungs had stopped burning and it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, because it was never the rocks he’d needed to find. It was this man.

Twisting, Steve swam closer, watching as the dark-haired man - or whatever he was, a faery, or nymph, perhaps? - smiled, showing two rows of pearly white, sharpened teeth behind plump, pink lips. It should have terrified him. It didn’t, the smile driving all thoughts of what the man was from his mind. All he could think was fitting his own lips over those lips; getting his hands on all those muscles; nibbling on the tapered, pointed ears; and discovering if the long, thick length hanging between his legs could get bigger.

The first part he reached was a shoulder, firm under Steve’s fingers, the muscle tensing under his touch. The skin was slick and a little harder than he expected, but smooth and cool. The undine released his ankle and he kicked again, pushing himself closer, letting Steve hand slide up over the powerful shoulders and onto the strong, naked back. He wrapped both his arms around the man’s neck, pulling himself down so he could wrap his legs around his sides as well, to keep from floating away. The cool skin sliding against his own made him shiver as he received another, half-smile and the undine’s hands slipped over Steve’s arms, even under his shirt.

Steve’s heart skipped a beat as the nymph shifted with him effortlessly, pulling until Steve was seated in his lap. He felt so solid under Steve’s hands and between his legs, an undeniable presence, not a figment his mind had summoned from the depths. And now Steve’s mind was consumed with the thought of touching him, exploring, learning that body _intimately_.

Leaning in, he pressed his lips to the pink ones, a whimper leaving him at the first touch, swallowed by the water. Heart beating madly, Steve slid a hand down, over the brawny chest, muscular belly, revelling in the hairless skin as he reached the thick, soft cock. Something in Steve ached at how unfair it was that he wanted it so bad, and it wasn’t even a little hard. He swept his tongue along the soft, lower lip, but couldn’t stop thinking about the soft cock in his hand. How would look hard and flushed? How big could it get? How would it taste? How would it feel inside him?

Without any thought to what he was doing, Steve unlocked his legs from around the thick waist, and pulled himself through the water until he was ‘face-to-face’ with that cock. Holding onto the nymph’s hip with one hand, he directed the soft length into his mouth, taking as much as he could, and sucked. Like the rest of the skin he’d felt, it was cold, but as tender and vulnerable as on any man, and Steve wanted _more_. So he sucked harder, pushing his face closer to the man’s groin, and at last got a reaction. The undine kicked the water, legs jerking as one emerald fingered hand came to rest on Steve’s head, fingers tugging at Steve’s short hair.

Taking it as the encouragement it undoubtedly was, Steve gave himself the to blow job, tasting the salty sea water and delicate skin, like any other man’s, as the cock began to fill. Something brushed his neck, cold as ice, and then was gone. Another hand locked around his head, holding him in place, and he would have purred in pleasure if he could have. With his mouth full, he merely reveled in the feeling of large palms keeping him steady as the man slowly started thrusting into his mouth. His cock was getting bigger than Steve had imagined it could, pressing at his tongue, slowly making its way deeper and deeper towards his throat with each slow thrust.

When he felt the head reach the back of his throat, Steve choked, but didn’t try to pull away despite the hands tightening around his head. On the next thrust, it pushed past the resistance and into his throat. His eyes burned as his throat stretched around the girth, but his own cock, hard for ages now, was aching with the need to be touched. Helplessly, heart skittering in his chest and ignoring his own desire, Steve held on and did his best to swallow, as the undine’s head pressed against his throat. This time it was pulled down until Steve’s nose was pressed against a cool, firm pelvis. Moaning, he closed his eyes and let go, let the man do what he wanted to his throat. He had no idea how long it lasted, just that his throat ached as much as his cock, straining against his wet clothes as he swallowed, again and again, and yet still felt no need to breathe.

Finally it was too much, he _needed_ too badly, and he fumbled with his own pants, trying to get his cock free of the restricting material. Before he could, his partner pulled away, letting go of his head. Eyes snapping open, Steve abandoned his attempt at getting to his own cock and tried to swim after his undine and the delicious, large cock that was being taken away from him. He made it to mere inches before strong hands wrapped about his biceps and Steve was yanked upward to be face-to-face with the unreal apparition once more. The undine, man, nymph, looked different now, a pale, sea green flush warmed his cheeks and his eyes glowed a fantastical celadon around his dark pupils.

Steve had just a moment to absorb the nymph’s beautiful colors, and then, this time, it was Steve who was being kissed. Full arms wrapped around him, holding him tight, as a tongue licked at his lips, confident and cool, like the rest of the man’s body. Steve opened up under the gentle prodding, moaned as the tongue swept into his mouth. Soft and sweet, it teased his own, flicking and twisting, making his mouth tingle with sensation. The kiss, the taste, the closeness, it left him dizzy, head swimming, as the nymph’s hands slid questioningly over his clothed chest. A moment later, the man ripped his shirt apart in a single, violent motion that left the thin cotton in pieces about him. Heart pounding, cock throbbing, Steve moaned and sucked hard on the tongue in his mouth, as the undine’s hands now slid over his naked skin, driving his rushing blood faster, making him _want_ and _need_ anything, everything he could be given. Pressing harder into the kiss, Steve twined himself around the cool, silver-sheened body, pressing his naked chest to his partner’s, coming out of his skin with his need to feel _more_.

When those hands finally slid to his waistband, Steve all but sobbed in relief, his hips pushing against the cool body instinctively. The nymph nipped at his lip, then harder as he thrust again, and Steve got the hint, holding still as the hands pushed his pants down, over his ass. It took longer than his shirt, but soon he was able to kick the garment away. All that remained was his underwear, trapping his cock, the wet cotton plastered down unpleasantly. He whined in frustration, pressing closer to the man’s strapping body, wrapping his legs about him once more, rutting against it helplessly.

Bubbles burst from his throat as broad hands gripped his ass, palming his cheeks through the sopping blue cotton, pulling him closer so there wasn’t space between them from chest to hip. The fingers curled, squeezing his ass, then pulling them, spreading them apart so a trail of cool water touched his hole. Gasping, feeling water rush in and out of his lungs in an odd, fluttery sensation, he shivered violently even as his body burned like a furnace. Steve couldn’t stand it anymore, squirming as he gripped his underwear and pushed it down, eagerly baring himself for his nymph, eager to offer everything he was in return.

Sitting back, the undine watched with rapt, glowing eyes as Steve flung the wet fabric away, lips curled in amused pleasure. Then he reached for Steve again, sure hands chilling his skin as he cupped his cheeks again, a sly finger sliding between them to rub at his hole. Steve whimpered and locked his legs around his partner’s waist, exposing himself to that questing touch, yet all it did was tease. At first it just brushed over the tightly furled ring of muscle, not even rubbing over it, just barely ghosting across it. Then it returned, harder, pressing just on the edge of slipping in, but not actually penetrating, making Steve squirm and huff in frustration. He wanted that touch firmer, wanted it _in_ him. If he’d been breathing air, his breath would have rasped from his throat with how hard his chest heaved. The water rushed from him instead, tingling his cheeks. Yet the pressure was never more than a tease, never anything more than just a cruel way to catch his attention and make him focus on his ass, the way it was clenching on nothing. Steve wanted to feel those strong fingers _in_ him, making his hole burn, making him really feel those digits, two then three, filling him, making him whimper. It would feel so good, the best he’d ever had, yet his partner just teased, rubbing, touching...

The growl Steve let out was swallowed in the silent sea surrounding them as Steve reached back, snatched his nymph’s finger, and pushed the tip against his hole hard enough it breached. The burn rushed through his body and he tossed his head back, reveling in the stretch and feel of _something_ finally inside him. When he looked to his partner, the undine’s eyes were round, surprise writ large in their glowing, grey depths. A dark, red tongue licked pink lips, and then he was pulling away as Steve whined with loss.

A finger pressed to his lips, shushing, as his nymph smiled at him. Huffing, Steve bit playfully at the pad because he didn’t _want_ to wait for anything. He wanted the man inside him. Five minutes ago. Yet he controlled himself, sitting still as the undine reached between them, wrapped his hand about his own cock, and squeezed. Glowing blue fluid seeped from the tip and he swiped it up, enough to cover his first knuckle, and at last reached behind Steve again.

“Yes,” Steve tried to say, but there was nothing but vibration.

Still, his partner seemed to get his meaning well enough, as almost immediately he felt the push of two fingers at his hole. The stretch burned only momentarily before a sense of warmth washed over him and radiated outwards in slow pulses, going to the tips of his toes and the top of his head. There was nothing but pleasure, a sensation of being full, and Steve clenched down in appreciation. When he felt the fingers withdraw, he dug his fingers into the nymph’s shoulders, only to choke at the sensation of _three_ fingers pushing back in, stretching him even more. Yet there was still no pain, no tearing, just a brief burn and the pulsing warmth.

The fingers withdrew, then pushed in again, deeper and easier, like he had been stretched for hours before, not celibate for a few months now. It felt incredible to be filled so completely so quickly. Steve arched his ass against the intrusion, presenting, giving those wonderful fingers as much access to his hole as possible. His own fingers were making crescent moon indentations on those firm shoulders, but he couldn’t make himself let go. He was moving his hips, thrusting back, every time his undine pushed the digits inside him. The hard ridges of the man’s stomach muscles dragged against his cock, the faint stimulation enough to make Steve’s eyes roll back in his head. It was all so good, so _goddamned_ good, he felt possessed, wild, filled with a need he had never known before.

Without any way to communicate, Steve had no warning when his nymph withdrew his fingers. One moment he was full, the next they were gone and he was being moved, hips trapped in a bruising grip, up and then down again. The blunt head of the man’s cock pressed at his hole, but he didn’t stop pulling. Steve clenched his teeth and threw his head back at the pressure as his body opened to the intrusion. Slow and steady, his body was invaded, the thick cock stretching him far more than the fingers had. The sense of warmth intensified, spreading through his entire body, relaxing his muscles, so that the huge cock slid in deeper. He thrashed when it bottomed out and the head pressed against his prostate without even a change of angle. The zing of pleasure left Steve gasping, eyes open, but unseeing, fingers still digging into his partner's shoulders at the mind-blowing sensation of being stretched and filled to the brim in a single thrust.

When he felt the man pull him up, drag him up the length of his long cock like he was a toy to be manipulated, Steve screamed. No sound reached his ears, but it would have choked off the moment he was pulled back down, stretching him over that cock once again. It was so good, it pushed the last of any coherent thought out of Steve’s mind. The grip he had on those strong shoulders tightened as he delighted in the stretch and the slow, relentless assault in his insides. The cock was hot and thick and long, like nothing he’d ever taken before. Yet there was no pain, just the pleasure of the stretch as it pushed against his prostate each time he was seated again.

Steve couldn’t tell if they were right side-up, sideways, or upside-down. The nymph was gripping his hips, moving him relentlessly on and off, pulling fully out of Steve before forcing his way back inside. Every time felt deeper, water pushing inside with each new penetration, the pressure almost as delicious as the cock itself. Everything was heightened, every sensation, the hands on his hips, the solid body between his thighs, the cool skin beneath his palms. Though he could breathe fine, Steve was gasping, head thrown back as his body was breached over and over, forced to stretch around the thick, bulbous crown of his nymph’s cock.

Certain nothing could be better, Steve cried out as his nymph abruptly stopped, grinding up into him and releasing his hips just before Steve felt the first touch on his chest. The palms were large and slightly rough with calluses, fingers spreading wide over his chest, framing what little muscle he had. Then the touch firmed, fingers curling, grabbing as if he was a girl, as if he even had tits to fondle, pushing up and Steve felt himself flushing fiercely, heat tingling his cheeks, on the back of his neck, and where the shimmery, dark green fingers clutched his chest. His lover was fondling him as if it was the most natural thing in the world, bunching the flesh together, squeezing and releasing, making Steve hyper aware of that part of his body, of the slight prickling sensation as the blood rushed to his nipples, making them peaked and sensitive to every brush of the long, fingers.

Almost on cue, or maybe just feeling the hard tips pressing at his palms, his undine changed his grip so that his thumbs rubbed at the hardened buds. It made Steve jolt in place, surprised by how intense it felt. Each press of those thumbs against his nipples was sending tingling, hot little shocks of pleasure straight to his cock. He moaned helplessly at how good it felt, how fast it made an intense coil of heat gather in his belly. Steve pumped his hips in search of friction, in search of any kind of stimulation that would ease the rapidly growing ache inside him, and shuddered as it shifted him on the thick cock still buried in his ass.

Steve shouted when, instead of the steady press of fingers against his aching, sensitive nipples, he felt cool lips and a hot tongue. His fingers flew to tangle in the loose, floating locks of hair, as his lover started sucking harshly, arbitrarily biting the raised flesh, driving Steve wild with a mix of pain and pleasure. He had had no idea it could feel this way, this _good_. His partner’s other hand was still kneading at his other breast, all but mauling the flesh, as if it was the sexiest, hottest thing he had ever touched. Steve could barely deal with it, he was whining and gasping wantonly, pulling the head in his grasp as close to him as he could.

Unable to stand the ache a moment later, Steve rocked experimentally on his nymph’s hips. He had ridden men before, but never underwater. The motion turned out to be the same, Steve pulling himself up and forward, but then tightening his thighs to pull himself back down. A hum, or at least a vibration, went through Steve’s chest, and his lover switched to his other nipple, biting and lapping, encouraging Steve to move faster, sliding on and off, his pace set only by the ache in his legs and the water surrounding them. If Steve could have gone faster, he would have, his body singing with sensation with mounting, burning pleasure that held his eyes wide open. His back and neck arched. His muscles strained with the tension that seemed to only build and build and build...

A hand curled around his cock, pumping in time with the rise and fall of Steve’s hips, and his body reversed its curve, curling over his nymph, and he cried out. The sound was silenced, leaving only the burn of his vocal cords and he cried his pleasure into the depths and darkness as the tension snapped like a bow. Steve was coming, the intensity of the orgasm cutting off his breath as every muscle tightened and his ass clamped down on the thick intrusion inside him. Teeth, sharp and pointed, sank into the flesh about his nipple and Steve found his voice, screaming into the void of water as his channel was suddenly filled with hot come. The hands on his chest dropped to his hips, his nymph grinding up and into him, drawing out Steve’s own pleasure as the cock pushed into his prostate, his lover taking the last of his own pleasure, wringing it from Steve, leaving him aching and sore and floating.

Slowly his nymph released him, hands leaving bruises on his hips, and teeth bloody marks on his skin. Steve fell forward, or slumped - up and down were strange, tricky things under the water - and ended up with his cheek against his nymph’s chest. His hands held to the man’s shoulders, but his legs relaxed, floating out to either side of the shimmery, silver body. A hand carded through his hair, soothing and relaxing him more, and the other ran up and down his spine, the fin trailing after and before, scratching lightly. Steve hummed in approval, eyes closed, letting his body come down from the high his nymph had taken him to.

Then, all at once, it hit him. He was under water. He wasn’t drowning. He had had _sex_ with some kind of sea faery, and they were _at the bottom of the ocean_. His mind balked at the facts, not truly accepting them even if he could see the evidence with his own eyes.

Carefully, he sat up, hands on the creature’s chest and looked down at him. What his partner was exactly was unknown to Steve, but that it was male was unquestionable. The… man - Steve decided the term was close enough - looked at him worriedly. Uncertain. The glow was gone from behind his eyes, gills fluttering on his cheeks, and sharp teeth pressed to pink lips, making them white.

His nymph, his water faery, his undine, was afraid of how he would react now that Steve’s mind was his own again.

Tentatively, Steve reached up and pressed his fingers just beneath one curling, tilda-shaped gill and was shocked by how _soft_ it was, especially compared with the rest of the undine’s skin. Biting his lip, Steve trailed his fingers along the ridge of the shapely nose, between dark eyebrows, over the strong brow, to the pointed, delicately ridged ears. A shudder ran through his nymph as Steve’s fingers teased the ridge, and he raised a curious eyebrow, before pulling his hand away.

Shaking his head, his nymph took his hand and brought it back to his ear and Steve’s felt his lips turn up in a happy grin. Tugging lightly at the tender flesh, he ran his fingertips over the edge, to the tip, then back down, around the curve to the small lobe. He pinched it between his fingers, rubbed, and felt the firm body between his legs shudder. Steve grinned wider; his undine was sensitive.

Pulling his hand away, but not breaking his touch, Steve trailed his fingers down to the strong jaw, along to the full, pouty lips. His nymph’s eyes were glowing again, Steve noticed, lips parting as sharp, wicked teeth ever-so-gently fit over his finger, playfully biting at the pads. Eyes widening, Steve laughed, the sound odd around them in the water, and he leaned forward for a kiss, replacing his fingers with his lips. It was sweet and chaste, but neither Steve, nor his nymph, stopped smiling.

When he sat back Steve was still smiling, but the happiness slowly faded from his undine’s beautiful face. Frowning as well, Steve pressed both his fingers to the corners of the man’s mouth and pushed upward, forcing the full lips to stretch in a parody of a smile. Then his nymph really was smiling as he laughed, swatting at Steve’s hands, the sound silvery - like bells, or chimes - all around them. Steve’s heart skipped, like the hole it had been born with hadn’t been patched up. Whatever his lover was, he was _beautiful_. Like nothing Steve had ever seen.

The oddly colored hands reached for Steve’s face, framing it between broad, talented hands, and Steve bit his lip as deep blue eyes searched his face. They were sad again and Steve wanted more than anything to see him smile, laugh, again. He leaned forward, hoping a kiss would bring the smile back, but his lover was taking his wrists, pulling them about his neck. Steve blinked, his ankles being next, tugged until he locked them about the man’s waist. The unfairness of being forced silent by the water, by an impossible lack of oxygen, frustrated him then, as he was unable to ask what it was his lover was doing.

Then his head was being tucked beneath the man’s chin and they were _moving_. Steve shouted, holding on tight as he could, as his undine flipped them over, kicked his legs, and the water surged about them, tugging at Steve’s hair, his limbs, trying to drag him off the nymph’s body. He didn’t know where they were going, or why, but the thought of falling off, of being pulled into the dark water without this creature to protect him, was utterly terrifying.

Moments later, he knew what was happening as, above his head, he saw a wave curl and crest, then crash into the ocean. He watched another, the view from beneath startling with its beauty, and knew he was being taken to the beach. A new fear gripped him, of being left behind, because he was a creature of the land and air and his lover… Well, Steve didn’t know _what_ he was, but that he was a creature of the water’s depths was obvious. Steve didn’t want his lover to go, didn’t want to let go of him even as his nymph tugged at him, pulling his ankles free and they fell, once again obeying the edicts of gravity. He felt the sand under his feet. He was still half-floating, not fully standing, but his lover was pulling back, pulling Steve’s hands from about his neck and turning away.

The man kicked off, his body as natural in the water as any fish, and he was floating back, away from Steve, soon to disappear in the dark depths of the ocean once more. Steve couldn’t just watch him go. He clenched his fingers around his lover’s wrist, trying to keep hold of him, and met the dark eyes. A sad expression floated over his lover’s handsome features, but was soon covered by determination.

Steve opened his mouth to call out to him, when the wrist jerked from his grip, the water making it hard to keep hold. Instead of a call to stop his nymph from leaving, Steve gave out a desperate gurgle. The moment his fingers slipped from that strong wrist, his lungs seemed to remember they were _not supposed to be filled with water_. Panic squeezed his chest as he kicked up spastically until his head breached the water surface and he coughed and coughed and coughed, so hard it made him dizzy. Water poured from his lips, his lungs burning and spasming, until with a great heave of air he could breathe again. He treaded water with his hands, the night currents jerking him this way and that way even in the shallows, but the waves were gentle about him, small enough he was never in danger of going under again.

When he could breathe enough to think clearly, Steve realised he how much he was shivering. What seemed like pleasantly cool water before was freezing cold now, making his teeth chatter in a matter of minutes. His lover was nowhere in sight as Steve spun about, searching the horizon, the beach, trying to ignore that he was naked, in frigid water, wanting to find the man again.

Only when his toes stopped hurting did he force himself from the water to the shore, but the night breeze did him no favors. Steve stumbled toward his rented home, glancing back at the water over and over, wondering why he’d been left behind.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Steve had made it into his house before his lungs had given up, but had to stumble, dizzy and gasping, for his inhaler. Every part of his body ached, from cold and sex, but there was no chance he could make it back outside again after the asthma attack ended. He curled up in bed, wrapped in every blanket on his bed, and passed out as he waited for the medicine to open up his lungs.

When he woke, Steve stared up at the ceiling, feeling groggy and hungover. He’d dreamt of sharp teeth, long green fingers, sapphire glowing eyes, sex, and the ocean. Fumbling for his inhaler, he took two puffs, and groaned. He felt itchy, his hair stiff, and his sheets smelled like salt water. Making a face, he rolled out of bed and stumbled towards the bathroom.

He turned on the shower water to full steam, then froze, staring at himself in the mirror. Scabs had formed in the night, surrounding his nipple in the shape of a mouth. A mouth he’d dreamt had bitten him as its owner came inside him.

While they had been fucking.

_Underwater_.

Stepping back, Steve turned and stared at his hip, then the other. Deep, purple bruises in the shape of large hands covered them from front to back. His body ached, like he’d run for miles, or been fucked better than ever before. Biting his lip, Steve reached back, between his cheeks and brushed his hole, then winced, the puckered rim sensitive and still swollen, explaining the deep ache from being stretched so wide.

It wasn’t a dream.

His sheets smelled of salt water. His hair was crusted with it after he’d never washed off after stumbling back to his home from the beach. There would be sand in his entry way. His neighbor’s boat would be gone.

It wasn’t a dream.

He had been breathing underwater. It had given him an asthma attack.

Steve shook his head. The proof of his body going through something was so clear, it was still more than a little hard to believe that he had met some kind of underwater, mystical creature and had sex with it. Him. Underwater.

Steve groaned, sliding to the floor and digging his fingers into his hair, tugging sharply. His mind was whirling with the possibilities, from sea faeries, to him suffering some kind of fugue state that ended up with him having detailed, unbelievable delusions. Or maybe he had been drugged.

One thing was clear, it wasn’t a dream. _Something_ had happened to him.

Steve felt like a man possessed. The day had passed in a blur as he tried to decide if he was going crazy, if he was the only one who had ever met…whatever it was he’d had sex with out there. If he had had sex out there.

To make sure he had proof later, he’d taken pictures of the marks on his body - the bruises and the healing bite. He’d written a list of every unusual ache and pain, noting which ones could be chalked up to the asthma attack, and which ones couldn’t. Then he’d curled up in front of his computer, researching the town, mythical creatures, anything and everything that came to mind and he could type into Google.

Which, he thought later, might have been a mistake. There was just…so _much_ information. He tried narrowing down his search after finding some results that linked to wildlife preservation sites, even sporting good stores selling fishing licenses. Refining his search, he tried the name of the town, the name of the beach, and the word rocks, until his results had less trash in them.

That’s when the real work began. Steve spent hours reading article after article. There were a few interesting ones by a local marine society about all the ships that had sunk in the area. Between the 17th century and the early 20th century, almost fifty-seven ships of various sizes had sunk after they crashed into the rocks. The same rocks that Steve had been so obsessed with reaching. So obsessed he’d stolen his neighbor's boat… Or had he?

Standing up so fast he nearly dropped his computer, Steve ran from his home, across the back deck, and halfway down the stairs that led to the beach. There he stopped because he could see his answer. His neighbor had called the police and was standing on his dock, waving toward the water, where once a boat had sat. A little, wooden row boat that was now in pieces at the bottom of the sea, if his memory was to be believed. Fifty- _eight_ boats.

Breathing hard, Steve went back inside, picked up his laptop and kept reading. The rocks had been named the Singing Stones around the 19th century. An odd name for a group of rocks sticking out of the sea some ways from land. They weren’t even really all that special to look at.

The next articles Steve found were series of claims that his beach had been the site of UFO landings for the past a hundred years. The author had posted a lot of pictures of the exact same stretch of beach Steve walked every day, with blurry pictures of dark smudges in the sky that were supposed to be the UFOs. More importantly, it listed over twenty people who the author claimed had disappeared in the area, presumably taken by the aliens. Once the author moved on to detailing the various and extreme details of alien-probing, Steve had made an executive decision and closed the browser with a snort. It had given him an important clue, however; the multitude of missing people. However, if so many people were missing, Steve would need to learn about it from a more reliable source than some crazy UFO hunter.

Taking a break, Steve set about making himself a cup of hot tea and stretched while he waited for the kettle to boil. He had his own blend of loose leaf tea, the result of many experiments, and the one he liked the most now. With the brew in hand, he returned to his laptop and began sifting through the rest of his results.

An article about a small brood of otters that came back to the shores every year took his attention for a time. Who could blame him? Otters were _adorable_ , and the sixty-three year old retired doctor who wrote the article had an uncanny talent for humoristic descriptions and some really great pictures of the little buggers. Before he had realised what he was doing, Seve had learned all about otters, their adventures on his little beach, and the small group of locals dedicated to keeping them safe.

His little detour over, Steve switched focus and looked for missing persons reports in the area. Strangely enough, there were many stories about people who had gone missing, mostly amateur fishermen who had taken risks when the ocean wasn’t safe, ignoring warnings of incoming storms. There were a few too many stories of people who had taken long walks on the beach, never to come home, though. A few too many wives and husbands who were thought to have run off with lovers, never to be seen again.

At the end of the day, after Steve had gotten distracted by otters only one more time, Steve’s research had left him with more questions than answers. What he’d found in the waves, why he’d taken the boat and gone out to the rocks, why the creature had let him go without giving him a moment to talk… Steve didn’t know and he was starting to think he never would.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Sam Wilson had known Steve Rogers his entire life. They’d met in middle school, before Steve’s mom had gotten sick, back before Steve was an artist and just another kid who liked to draw. He’d thought for sure when he went off to college and Steve stayed to take over his mom’s glass blowing studio that they’d drift apart. Steve was working, after all, full time and taking care of his mom as she went through her third round of chemo. And they had, at first. Sam’s first year of college was wild, girls and parties and sleepless nights.

Then his grades came back and his counselor put him on academic probation. His mom had threatened to kick him out if he didn’t shape up, and Steve had been there. Not judging, just quietly offering Sam a place to stay, a place to study, and Sam had jumped at it. He’d come home to warm meals, quiet conversations about his classes, made new friends, and he’d started helping Steve care for Sarah as the doctors told them there was nothing more that could be done but to make her comfortable.

Some time that second year of college, Sam had fallen in love with his best friend. They’d been good together, too, while it lasted. But Sam had graduated college, started work as a social worker and they’d just…drifted apart. Then Sam had met Riley and Steve had broken up with him, telling Sam to get his head out of his ass and ask the man out. Sometimes, Sam wondered if Steve had resented him for that, if there had been any hard feelings, but Steve’s career was picking up, his studio getting more and more recognition for its pieces, and he wasn’t hard up for company.

They’d stayed friends, through it all, Steve being his best man at his wedding to Riley, and that was why, after a solid week of not hearing from Steve, not having his texts or emails answered, or phone calls returned, Sam had driven the three hours up the coast to the home Steve had rented on the beach to ‘find inspiration’, whatever the fuck that meant.

Artists, Sam thought, more nervous from Steve’s silence and wanting to be irritated instead of thinking that how Steve’s heart surgery had really only been a few years ago, and how the doctors had said only time would tell if he needed more work done.

Finding Steve’s car in the driveway of the rented beachfront property didn’t make him feel any better. Neither did finding the door unlocked, or the sand someone had tracked through the entire entry hall. Steve was a neat freak, thanks to his mother’s illness and his own asthma, yet the sand didn’t stop there. It was all through the living room, which was a mess of paper and pencils and half-finished drawings. He caught glimpses of powerful shoulders, the muscled curve of a male bicep, strangely shaded fingers. There were other shapes, something like fins along human-looking limbs. The drawings gave him a disturbing, dark feeling, like looking into a black, lightless cave. There was a lot of shadows in them and they seemed rushed, almost angry, the lines thick and jagged, fading out into unclear shapes. They were nothing like Steve’s usual art, with its lightness and crispness, careful shading and lines.

“Steve?” Sam called, forcing his gaze away from the drawings. “Steve? Are you here?”

A blond head poked around a doorframe, hair standing up, untended.

“Sam?” Steve asked, confusion showing in his red, bloodshot eyes. When he stepped out, closer, Sam could see bags under his eyes, so dark they looked as if he’d sloppily applied mascara to his face. Sam honestly couldn't remember his best friend looking this manic, not since his mother had passed. “Sam, what are you doing here?”

Charcoal, a dark blue dye, and something green stained Steve’s hands. It was rare the guy had clean hands when working, but Sam had never seen them as stained as they were. The colors ran all the way to his wrists, like artwork themselves.

“What am I doing here?” Sam repeated, feeling himself growing angry and knowing he shouldn’t, knowing it wouldn’t help when something was clearly very, deeply wrong here. “Steve, I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for a week. You’re not taking calls, you’re not replying to emails, or texts. I didn’t know if you were dead or…”

“Crazy,” Steve interrupted. “I think I’m going crazy.”

“Well,” Sam considered, looking at his friend in all his twitchy, exhausted glory. “You are definitely doing your best to look the part, I will give you that. Come on; you’re going to make us both tea and tell me what the hell is going on.”

To Sam’s complete surprise, Steve shook his head hard.

“No, no,” he said, darting forward and grabbing Sam’s hand. “I need to show you what I’m working on.”

“Steve,” Sam tried to protest, but despite his health issues and slight stature, Steve was a strong little shit, and he dragged him out of the living room, into the back, where the furnace had been installed. Though Steve loved to draw, his mother had made a living creating with molten glass. Steve had taken up for her when she couldn’t anymore and he’d fallen in love with the craft, with how it made him feel closer to his mother, and he was damn good at it. Nevertheless, Sam wasn’t expecting what he found in the glass studio.

The vase was sitting behind plastic, cooling or cooled - Steve could tell by looking, Sam couldn’t, and was the honestly the most beautiful vase he’d ever seen. The base started out a deep, midnight blue, then faded brighter, all the way to white at the edges. It wasn’t solid, though, the colors mingling and merging, random like the patterns of the ocean itself. The shape wasn’t normal, either, the left side taller than the right, and all curling outward, like the edges of a wave. The entire _vase_ reminded Sam of a wave, curling and crashing on the surf. When he got closer, he realized the white even bubbled, like sea foam.

“Jesus, Steve,” Sam breathed.

“A wave,” Steve said. “Like it looks from under water.”

“It’s… It’s beautiful,” Sam said stupidly. The vase was so much _more_ than beautiful.

“Ask me how I know what a wave looks like from underwater, Sam.”

Blinking in surprise, Sam turned away and looked at his friend. Steve’s blue eyes were intense, focused on him like he was the only thing in the room.

Carefully, Sam asked, “How do you know what a wave looks like from underwater, Steve?”

“You’ll think I’m crazy,” Steve said, suddenly wary, but Sam wasn’t sure he’d blinked.

“Tell me anyway,” he said quietly, feeling that same dark something from seeing the drawings slither through his stomach.

“I was underwater,” Steve blurted. “I was _breathing_ underwater, Sam. I saw… I _think_ I saw… There was a man. With me.”

Darting away from Sam, he grabbed the binder he kept his most important drawings in and shoved it at Sam, flipping through the pages until the end. “Him,” Steve said, tapping the drawing beneath the plastic cover. “He was there, he brought me, or called me, or _I don’t know_ , and I think I’m going crazy but I have _proof_ , Sam.”

The figure in the drawing was unmistakably male. Wide shoulders, a flat, muscled chest, and thick thighs were what he recognized as human, his brain jumping to connect those features to something he knew: a male, floating on the page. The problem was, the moment he focused on anything else, all his certainty vanished. The “man” had fairly human features on first pass: a wide, well formed jaw; large, dark eyes; a straight nose; and a mass of long, dark hair floating about his head. On his cheeks there were thick, jagged lines that Sam reluctantly interpreted as something akin to gills. His ears had very little in common with any human, or animal Sam had ever seen. They were flat, elongated, edged with three, flesh-like spikes; something he might see in a book of fairy tales.

The figure was naked, floating in what Sam assumed was the ocean. Along its forearms and shins were elongated fins. And there was a strange texture to the skin of the wholly naked figure… scales that kept fading into skin and then back into a scaled pattern.

Along with the strange, disturbing beauty of the man, the most intriguing element was the gleaming dagger in his hand. It was triangular and seemed such a disturbing, odd, almost violent addition to an otherwise alluring image.

“Steve,” Sam said very gently, very softly, “you can’t breathe underwater.”

“I’m _aware_ ,” Steve said, and his eyes were so wide now Sam could see the whites about his irises, “but I could when he touched me, and when he _stopped_ all the water I had breathed in gave me a fucking asthma attack, Sam. I passed out it was so bad. I passed out, in my bed, naked and covered in salt water after tracking sand into my house. Sand. Because he dumped me on the beach when we were done, and I was naked and freezing. _Naked_ , Sam.”

“Okay, okay,” Sam said slowly, grabbing Steve’s shoulders. He rubbed up and down his arms, trying to soothe and calm him before Steve had another asthma attack. “Are you sure you weren’t just…drugged?”

“I thought of that,” Steve agreed, “and yeah, maybe, but the thing is,” he took a long, deep breath, “I kind of stole my neighbor's boat - shut up, I _know_ \- and it’s _still_ missing, and what I remember is that I wrecked it. I wrecked the boat, Sam, out on the rocks. I don’t even know why I stole a boat. I don’t know why I thought I could row to the rocks. It was… it was exactly like being drugged, but then the boat sank and I didn’t… I should have died, Sam, out there, in the water, because it was after midnight and something possessed me to go fucking _rowing_.”

“Tea,” Sam said shortly. “No arguing. Make us tea.”

Opening his mouth, then shutting it, Steve nodded and lead him out of the studio, back down the hall, to the kitchen. Dishes were stacked in the sink, but the kettle had apparently been cleaned recently as Steve merely snatched it up, filled it with water and then started packing a ball with leaves he pulled from the many jars lining the window sill.

Steve was still the only American Sam had ever met who liked to brew his own loose leaf herbal infusions - Steve got mad when he called them all “teas” - but it wasn’t surprising. When Sarah had been at her sickest and the doctors had declared her case hopeless, Steve’s special brews were all that had been able to help take the edge off her pain, grant her a little appetite, or help her sleep.

Soon, the kettle was on the stove and the kitchen was filling with the scent of some herbal concoction.

“Okay,” Sam said slowly, “you’re trying to tell me… you were…drugged, or possessed, or…whatever and you stole your neighbor's boat and rowed, physically _rowed_ to the rocks? Those rocks I see out your window?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, and the single word had him deflating, slumping so his head was pillowed on his arms on the countertop.

“And then…what?” Sam continued. “That…thing you drew was in the water? And…?”

“We had sex,” Steve mumbled, then sat straight up, eyes bright. “It was the most amazing sex I’ve ever had, no offense.”

“None taken,” Sam said, biting back a laugh.

“He was… he was so good, and gentle, and it was all underwater, Sam. All of it. I was _breathing_ water.” Something hollow passed over Steve’s features. “And then he made me leave, swam me to shore, and the second he let go of me, I couldn’t breathe any more. My lungs,” Steve smiled wryły, “You know my lungs. They couldn’t take it. I barely made it to the house and my inhaler.”

Sam stared at his friend, his oldest, closest friend, and felt something twist in his stomach because, whatever had happened, Steve believed this version. The one where he’d rowed a boat to those rocks, sank into the water, and had sex with a merman, or something.

It was no wonder Steve thought he was going crazy, it _sounded_ crazy. If anyone but Steve or Riley had told him, he’d have thought that they _were_ crazy.

“You believe me,” Steve breathed, eyes going even wider. “Sam…”

“Hey,” Sam said roughly, “what’re best friends for?”

Steve laughed, a manic, helpless sound that made Sam wince.

“I was going insane trying to decide if it was real or not, and you come here and just believe me?!” Steve was starting to sound hysterical, his hands clenching on Sam’s jacket sleeve forcefully. The kettle howled, whistling, and Steve just laughed louder, letting go of him only to hold his own stomach.

“Ooookay,” Sam said slowly. “I think it’s bedtime for you.”

Going to the stove, he took the kettle off the burner and set it on a cold one. Then he turned to Steve, wrapped an arm around his waist and hauled him up.

“The whole thing is insane,” Steve said with another laugh. “Bonkers, nuts-o. And you believe me. You didn’t even see the pictures!”

“Pictures?” Sam asked as he picked the only hallway he hadn’t been down yet and hoped the bedroom was in that direction.

Steve nodded jerkily.

“Yeah, the bruises on my hips; you know I bruise so easy. And the bite mark, but you just… you _believe_ me.”

“Yeah, Stevie,” Sam said gently. “Let’s have you rest now, okay? We can talk more later. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Sam opened a door at random and found a bedroom, but knew it wasn’t Steve’s - the bed was made and Steve _never_ made the bed - so he headed for the next door. This one turned out to be a bathroom, but there was only one other door and Steve wasn’t being any help at all. He was still giggling, punch drunk and loopy.

Sam had to wonder when the last time he’d slept was and guessed it hadn’t been the previous night. If he had to guess, he would say Steve hadn’t eaten earlier.

Pushing open the last door, Sam smiled fondly at the rumpled bedsheets, and helped Steve over to sit on the edge of the mattress. Tapping Steve’s arms, he waited until he’d lifted them over his head before helping pull his shirt off. Steve laughed when his chin got caught in the collar and they had to wrestle him free, but the sound wasn’t quite as manic and frightening as his laughter thus far, so Sam didn’t mind much.

He did mind the bite mark around Steve’s nipple, surprised that it had been; deep enough to scab over, but he wasn’t going to say anything. Not when his friend had said the sex had been good. If Steve liked that kind of thing, Sam couldn't judge.

When Steve made no motion to help get out of his jeans, just grabbed Sam’s wrist and said, “I was breathing _underwater_!” Sam rolled his eyes, shoved his friend onto the bed - making him burst into giggles again - and went for the jeans himself. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Steve naked plenty of times before, or like they were going to do anything. Riley would understand.

It wasn’t easy to open pants on somebody squirming and generally acting as unhelpful as possible, but Sam managed. He got the first the button open, then the zipper down. He grabbed hold the waistband of both pants and the underwear - since Steve prefered sleeping naked - and pulled it all off. Steve being as skinny as he was made it easier. The next thing Sam knew, as he balled up the clothes and tossed them toward the hamper, was the front door slamming open, and a very pissed-off looking, dark-haired man was storming down Steve’s hallway toward them.

Sam had a moment to think he looked a bit like the man in Steve’s drawing, when he snarled, “Get away from him.”

Then the guy was grabbing the front of Sam’s shirt and lifting him up as if he weighed less than Steve, before throwing him back into the hallway, away from Steve and the bedroom. Sam rolled, thankful for his years of jiu-jitsu as he had been taught how to take a fall. It still hurt, the wooden floor not a nice surface to land on with such force, but he didn’t hurt himself and was back on his feet within seconds.

“Sam!” Steve shouted, sitting up, looking alarmed and dizzy. Then he looked at the stranger and went, “You! You son of a bitch! Wait, where’s your…fish bits? No, wait. Sam, are you okay?”

Sliding off the bed, Steve attempted to pass the guy, but he caught him by the chest and pushed him back, away from Sam and back onto the bed with a bounce.

But the stranger’s eyes were still on Sam. “You stay away from him, or I’ll eat you,” the guy snarled at Sam and that was a rather terrifying threat, he thought. But he was more concerned for Steve right now than himself.

“No eating Sam,” Steve said, trying to get back to his feet again, but only getting pushed back onto the bed.

Sam hesitated, not sure if he should advance head on at a guy that could throw him as easily as this one did, or if he should first grab some kind of weapon.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?!” Sam snarled. “Step away from Steve! You got no right being here!”

The stranger, who looked distinctively similar to the pictures Steve had drawn, was at the same time quite different. He looked completely human, for one, his shoulder-length hair nicely combed back, showing softly curving ears, not pointy ones. He was dressed in a back shirt and black, cotton jacket with dark jeans and black shoes. He looked like an ordinary man, if one that was a little obsessed with the color black. Except, Sam didn’t know anyone that could throw him across the room easily. Was the guy on drugs? Was that what he’d done to Steve? Drugged him so he thought they were breathing underwater?

“I let him live, he’s mine,” the stranger snarled, turning fully towards Sam. His stance was strangely unbalanced for somebody that had to have some kind of martial arts training to throw Sam like that and it was confusing.

“Steve doesn’t belong to anyone,” Sam snapped. “He’s not _property_ and even if, in some obscure way, you had a claim on him, you lost it when you left him like this! Dealing with…with whatever the hell happened on his own. Alone. What’d you do to him, huh? Did you drug him? Rape him?”

“Sam,” Steve protested, but Sam ignored him because he wasn’t in his right mind about this.

“You ain’t got _any_ right to be here,” Sam repeated, slashing his hand through the air. “Not now. If you cared, you should _never_ have left him like that.”

“Are you threatening me?” the stranger asked, a thread of incredulousness in his voice, taking another step closer to Sam.

“You are in Steve’s house!” Sam shouted, not backing down before this…man. “You attacked one his friends, and you threatened _me_.”

“You touched him,” the stranger rumbled, low and terrifying, anger sparking in his eyes again as he advanced one more step towards Sam. It was good, very good. Sam backed half a step, hoping the man followed and moved away from Steve.

“Because whatever you did has left him incapable of caring for himself,” Sam snapped, not about to stop defending his friend. “Now you show up, when someone else is cleaning up your mess? Fuck you, man. Steve is so much better than you.”

“You know nothing,” the stranger said, stopping his advance upon Sam. “I’m not going to waste time dealing with you.”

As Sam watched the man’s eyes changed, from the deep but human blue to grey and _glowed_ , the pupils becoming wider, fatter, and somehow liquid. The man’s skin changed color, his cheekbones gaining a strange, greenish shine. The ears elongated, their edges long and frayed. Sam couldn’t help but stare as the man’s eyes locked on his, at how very _other_ the man was, and think that Steve was right, about everything. Then the stranger opened his mouth and said one word, but was just a sound. Yet, it reached into Sam like a physical presence, feeling like a strong, cold hand punching through his chest, into his heart, into his very soul and locking every limb in place.

_**Forget.** _

The voice wasn’t a _voice_ , but the sound was inescapable. Sam could feel his heart slowing, his mind stilling, everything becoming vague and unimportant. He was looking at the man, but didn’t understand what he was looking at anymore. Didn’t much care, either, or that Steve was shouting, trying to get past the man again, to him.

“What are you doing?” Steve was shouting, worried and weak and far away and Sam knew he should care, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “Sam! _Sam_!!!”

_**Sleep.** _

Sam’s heartbeat slowed further, his eyesight faded, and Sam slipped into darkness, unaware and unconcerned. He needed to sleep; he wanted to sleep. He was so _tired_. It would be so good to rest, for just a moment… Just for a little while....

The undine - because Steve _knew_ the thing had to be a faerie, only the fae were so capricious - kept it’s hand on Steve’s chest, keeping Steve away as Sam just collapsed. One minute he’d been standing there, yelling at his faerie, and the next he was glassy-eyed and falling over. Collapsing, and Steve wasn’t being allowed to go to him, to see if he was okay. When he tried to get out of reach, his undine grabbed his upper arm in a grip so tight Steve knew he’d have new bruises to go with the last.

“Let go of me!” Steve shouted, struggling. “What did you do to Sam?!”

“He sleeps,” his undine declared. “He won’t remember any of this.”

“Won’t…” Steve froze, staring up at the faerie’s unnatural beauty, as his mind raced. His undine had taken Sam’s memories, without so much as twitching, he’d stripped Sam of… how much time? Hours? Days? Minutes? Years? Would he remember Steve? Would he remember coming here? He was the only one who Steve thought would ever believe him about what happened, about this faerie that had now attacked his best friend. His best friend, who was only trying to care for him.

“Why would you do that?” Steve gasped, feeling the unmistakeable _squeeze_ that meant he was in danger of having an asthma attack. “Why would you hurt him? He was just trying to get me to bed...”

“I haven’t hurt him,” his undine snapped, beautiful face twisting into an angry frown. “He is _sleeping_.”

“You threw him across the room!” Steve shouted, tugging at his arm, trying to get free again. It was like being manacled in iron; no give at all.

“He was _touching_ you. No one touches what’s mine.” There was a growl in the undine’s voice, a low, eerie echo to his voice that made Steve shiver. He remembered the sound of his voice when he’d ordered Sam to sleep, the hollow sound of it.

“If… if I’m… yours,” Steve said, stopping his struggles for a moment, hoping he could talk to the faerie without ending up like Sam, or worse, or… eaten, “where have you been? What are you,” Steve swallowed the words, ‘going to do with me.’ “What do you mean, that I’m yours?”

“I let you _live_ ,” the undine stated, as if that was the most obvious answer ever. “My song brought you to me and I let you _go_. It’s not _done_.”

“Why?” Steve asked as something wild entered his undine’s eyes. “Why me?”

The undine’s lips twisted downward, displeasure written across his features, and it was suddenly too hard to breathe. The hoarse, drawing rasp that meant Steve needed his inhaler, needed it _now_ , came from his lungs as they refused to grant him air. Between one breath and the next, every inhale was a challenge, and he tugged again at the hand holding him like a vise, holding him in place.

“What’s wrong?” the undine asked, his grey eyes fixed on Steve and no longer unhappy. He looked _worried_.

Unable to get enough air to answer, just making that horrible, gasping grunt, Steve struggled. His inhaler was just on the side table, and if the faerie would just let him go, he could make it there, he could make his lungs behave, and stop the awful, burning pain in his chest.

“You humans are so strange,” the undine was muttering, even as the hand on Steve’s upper arm warmed, and a strange, pleasant tingling spread over his body. Steve could feel his muscles relaxing. All of them, even his lungs, which expanded slowly, filling with glorious air. “You can’t breathe under water. You can’t breathe on land.”

Shocked and beyond startled, not to mention a little dizzy, Steve just stared up at his faerie and _breathed_. Like it was easy. Like it was something that hadn't been so damn hard for him moments before. Like he was underwater again.

“That’s amazing,” Steve murmured.

His undine at last took his hand away, but the warmth remained for a while longer, Steve’s lungs still working as if they weren’t traitors.

“I don’t want you dead,” his undine said, sounding startled and even a little belligerent. As if the realisation was an unwelcome surprise to him.

“Um, thanks?” Steve said, uncertain what to say in the face of a faerie he’d had sex with and was only now realizing he wanted Steve alive.

“There are so many of you,” the undine said as if Steve hadn’t spoken, “yet you are all so blind.”

Narrowing his eyes, Steve huffed and glanced at Sam, but didn’t try to go to him again. He wanted to, but his arm hurt enough and Steve was clearly no match for the faerie. Steve was a little terrified to realize he had no control of the situation, of whether he and Sam would even live to see the morning.

“Maybe,” Steve said, “but at least we’re not arrogant jerks.”

His undine laughed at that, surprising Steve.

“Are you telling me humans are oh so humble creatures? Thinking yourself the top of the food chain. Thinking yourself the sole owners of this planet?”

“I’m telling you I don’t go around judging a whole species by one guy who… who,” Steve flung a hand toward Sam, “attack people, or have decided I’m something that can be _owned_.”

Without warning, his undine turned on him again, grabbing Steve’s shoulder and shoving him onto the bed. He was so much _bigger_ than Steve, nearly a foot taller, and that wasn’t even taking into account the super strength. Worst, he wasn’t afraid to manhandle Steve, shoving again until he was splayed on his back, feeling completely vulnerable, remembering last time they’d been together: The feel of his undine’s hands on him, his cock inside him, his lips and tongue and sharp, but gentle teeth.

This was nothing like that.

“You’re mine,” his undine snarled. “I won’t give you up to anyone else, human or otherwise.”

Though he thought it might be the death of him, Steve lifted his chin and glared.

“So then what?” he demanded, wishing his voice wasn’t shaking like it was. “You do whatever you want to me? Hurt the people I care about? I am not… I’m not a _pet_. My name is Steve and I… I want you to leave. I don’t want you to touch me.”

His undine’s brows furrowed and he looked a little confused, like Steve had started speaking in a language he didn’t understand.

“I didn’t eat you,” his undine repeated, a little helplessly.

“Th-thank you for that,” Steve said, scooting away from the faerie and up the bed, “but you’re scaring me now and I want you to go. I am… I am not yours. I belong to myself.”

“Humans are food,” his undine said, the frown still firm on his face, making no move to leave. “If you catch your food, doesn’t it belong to you?”

“I, um,” Steve stared up at the faerie, a bit at a loss for words. “We don’t… We mostly buy our food now? But when we catch it, we usually share it? _Not_ that I’d like you to share me, thanks,” Steve laughed weekly, because the thought wasn’t remotely funny.

“So if you buy it, it’s yours and you can decide to share it?”

“I guess, um, just… you really think of me as food? Because… because we don’t have sex with food. Or, we really frown on - oh.” It struck Steve, all at once, by what his faerie had meant when he’d said it wasn’t done to let food go. “You, um,” Steve’s voice went high and strained, “have sex with your food often?”

His undine shrugged.

“Not usually, but as long as you eat them later, everything is okay.”

“Okay, well,” Steve sat up slowly, almost expecting his undine to shove him back down, “Sam wasn’t going to… He was trying to put me to bed. Which means sleeping, alone, not together. We’re not in a relationship. I… I don’t _belong_ to him. He belongs to a man named Riley.”

“Oh,” his undine said, almost sheepishly. “He was helping you?”

“Yes,” Steve said. “After… after what happened, I haven’t been… I thought you couldn’t be _real_ and that meant I was crazy because it was all… very real.”

A shadow briefly passed over his undine’s face.

“We are taught to make you forget,” he admitted, his eyes softening. “I didn’t make you forget.” he added almost as an afterthought, quietly enough it sounded as if he was considering doing it now, taking Steve’s memories from him. Taking the muse that had flooded him since that night and god only knew what else. His mother? Sam? Their friends?

“Please,” Steve pleaded, his heart slamming suddenly into his ribs, “I don’t want to forget.”

His undine looked conflicted, his eyes flickering away and then back to Steve.

“I should,” he murmured, but he sounded unsure. As if Steve’s distress was affecting him. Looking back, Steve could see that whenever he looked the most upset, his undine reached out to help him. Now he caught Steve by the ankle, dragging him down the bed until he could touch his face, long, dark green fingers gentle caressing the skin about his eyes, along his nose; the same as Steve had done that night after they’d been together. “I don’t want to.”

Lips parting as his breath shuddered out of him, Steve shivered.

“Then don’t,” he whispered, “and, and maybe,” Steve tentatively laid his hand over his undine’s, “we can talk about me and… and belonging to you?”

His undine’s eyelids lowered and a kind of softness came to his features, making him appear younger, more vulnerable.

“I want to taste you again,” his undine murmured.

Swallowing hard, but thinking, what the hell, Steve leaned closer to his undine.

“Help me get Sam to bed and you can?”

Though his undine growled a little under his breath, he nodded his assent.

“Show me,” he demanded, pulling away from Steve and lifting Sam over a shoulder like he weighed as much as a piece of paper.

Trying not to get turned on by the sight, Steve led his undine out of his bedroom, across the hall where the guest room was. Wordlessly, the faerie laid Sam on the bed, then whirled, caught Steve up, lifting him so that his first instinct was to wrap both arms and legs about his undine’s powerful body. Then his back was against the wall and he was gasping, startled, and the faerie took full advantage, kissing him hard and letting his tongue sweep inside, licking at his mouth, fucking with his tongue, and then abruptly jerking away, scowling fiercely.

“You’re sick,” his undine declared as if Steve had done something wrong.

“I,” Steve managed, not understanding. “What?”

“You taste wrong.” His undine wasn’t waiting for Steve to catch up, just hitched Steve up by his ass and started walking toward Steve’s bedroom. “Your body needs rest.”

“My body needs answers!” Steve cut in immediately, hating the way his undine seemed to have changed his tune from one second to the next. Hating that the need that had been built in him with that one, tiny kiss was going to be ignored.

“No,” his undine said, putting Steve back onto his bed. He did it far gentler than he had with Sam, but it did nothing to ease Steve’s ire.

“You can’t just tell me what I need,” Steve complained and kicked when he felt his undine starting to pull the blanket over him.

“You clearly don’t know how to listen to your own body,” his undine murmured and placed his palm on Steve’s chest, fingers spread wide. Almost instantly he felt that same warm, tingling sensation spread through his chest. His lungs quivered and he took a deeper, fuller breath.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked, his body warming and relaxing, his spine almost melting into the mattress.

“Helping you rest,” his undine said. _**Sleep.**_.

The word was so much more, Steve realized as his body was _compelled_ to obey. There was no fighting it, no way to resist, and it was at once terrifying and soothing, because nothing could be scary when you were so damned relaxed. It was frustrating as well, but that, like everything was washed away under the one, simple command. Sleep.

As his eyes started to close, his body unable to resist his faerie’s magic, Steve reached out, trying to get his undine to stay.

“Please,” he muttered, or tried to mutter. His eyes were closed and it was so hard to tell if he wasn't already dreaming. “I don’t even know your name.”

Steve must have been dreaming because the answer, “Bucky,” couldn’t have been real. It was too adorable for someone so ferocious.

 


	4. Chapter 4

_“...eve!”_

There was a strange, distant ache in his shoulder. Steve shrugged, trying to rid himself of the annoyance. There was somewhere he had to be.

“ _Steve!_ ”

The sound was louder now, clearer; the voice calling his name familiar. It sounded disturbed, scared, and that made him stop and pay attention. It had Sam. _Sam_ sounded scared, in distress, and it wasn’t right. Sam shouldn’t be upset. Steve needed to go to him. He needed...

But he was so sleepy, the darkness welcoming and relaxing. Nothing hurt in that darkness, nothing ached, and he wanted to stay in it forever.

“Steve!”

This time the call was accompanied by a sharp, stinging blow across his face; a bright bloom of pain on his right cheek. Reluctantly he opened his eyes, wondering who the hell had hit him. Wondering why anyone would want to take him from his peace, from a place where he would finally, finally not hurt any more...

All of a sudden he was awake. Wide awake, heart pounding, as he realised he was outside. It was night, pitch black everywhere, the distant stars above them. Cold, salty wind was buffeting him from the ocean… The ocean he was standing in, ankle deep. He blinked again and turned towards the hand yanking on his arm, to find Sam, wide eyed and terrified, trying to pull Steve back to shore. He was pale and shocked, his pants soaked to the knees.

“Steve, I am _begging_ you, _wake up_!” Sam was shouting, terror thick in his voice.

“Sam?” Steve asked, his voice so small he hardly realized it was his own. “How did…?”

Turning, he looked back at the water as he let Sam pull him onto the shore. The ocean was as dark as ever, the rocks, the Singing Stones, standing as holes in the starry sky in the distance. That, he knew, was where he’d been trying to go. In his sleep. Back to his undine who thought of him as food and was, it seemed, no longer happy to keep him alive.

“Christ, Steve!” Sam blurted. “What the hell is going on? I woke up in your bed, I don’t remember how I got there, and I find you sleepwalking into the ocean!”

“I… I don’t know,” Steve whispered. “Sam, I don’t know what’s happening.”

Sam stared at Steve for a beat, then tugged him into a hug, holding him close as Steve shivered and not just from the cold because if this kept up, if he tried to swim out to those rocks when Sam wasn’t around, he was going to drown. He wasn’t a strong swimmer, he wasn’t good at sports at all thanks to his asthma, and the rocks were so damned far. Worst of all, Steve was too afraid to tell Sam about his undine again, not after what had been done to him, so Sam wouldn’t stay. He’d have to go back home, to his life and Riley, and Steve… Steve already knew, deep in his bones, he couldn’t leave this coast. Which meant, sooner or later, he was going to be pulled back out to those rocks, and then he’d be just another missing person. Another body they never found.

Natasha, Bucky thought, was the most beautiful siren he’d ever known. That was likely why she was so effective at catching prey and lived as long as she had. Unlike Bucky, who blended in with the sea, she was like the fire the humans had created so long ago. Long hair red, dark as heart’s blood, drifted behind her in the soft current. The scales on her pale skin were iridescent, shining a million different shades of red, like the ocean surface at sunset. He loved watching her move, the way she moved as gracefully in water as she did on the ground. Humans loved to watch her as, well as she was never hungry for long, unlike Bucky, who sometimes had to stalk his prey for weeks before it would come to him.

“You didn’t eat him,” Natasha repeated, a slight frown in the lines about her ruby red lips. “Why, Bucky?”

“I,” Bucky trailed his fingers through his hair, thinking back on that night, his hunger, his prey thin, but enough to last him weeks. “I don’t know… He was just... ” Bucky flailed for a word and finally settled on, “sweet,” even if it wasn’t right. No one word explained the way he felt.

“Sweet,” Natasha echoed skeptically. “He was so sweet, you saw him about to have sex with one of his own kind and barged in, stopped him, and then didn’t wipe him.”

“I couldn’t,” Bucky said helplessly. “Not when he asked me not to. And he wasn’t going to have sex with the other human. I… I misunderstood.”

“Oh, of course, which was why you almost had sex with it again.”

“Steve,” Bucky corrected before he could stop himself.

“What?” Natasha asked, confusion on her face.

“Steve, not ‘it’,” Bucky explained. “He’s not just… food.”

Something soft and amused flickered across Natasha’s features, something too close to fondness for Bucky’s liking. Natasha didn’t like anyone, she just tolerated them.

“All right, that’s why you almost had sex with Steve. Then what? Why’d you leave again, if he’s so special to you?”

“He needed rest,” Bucky said, feeling strangely defensive. “He’s sick. So I used my magic to put him out and -”

“You did what?” Natasha interrupted, no trace of her smile around her eyes. “Bucky, you used your magic on him _again_? After he’d been affected by your song?”

“I, yes,” Bucky answered, unnerved by her tone. “He had trouble breathing before that, so this was the second time. Steve is… he appears to be dysfunctional, unable to breathe on la -”

“Bucky,” Natasha interrupted, then she said slowly and clearly, “you do realise that he is still under your song? When did you leave him?”

“Before the last moon rise,” Bucky said.

“After you cast your song, how long did it take him to give in?”

“A few days?” Bucky said. “Not very long.”

“Oh, Bucky,” Natasha’s features pinched, like pity, and Bucky’s heart raced, “he’s probably gone.”

“What?” Bucky said, twisting in the water, floating toward her. “No, he was fine. He was asleep and I cast my song over a week ago. It can’t still be on him.”

“When the moon rose, he would have tried to follow the song. Every time you use your magic on him, it would make it stronger, harder to resist. If his body was weak, he’d have even less resistance to you. He would have walked into the sea and swum until he couldn’t any more.”

“No,” Bucky shouted, twisting in place, needing to go to Steve’s beach and his little house immediately. “No, he’s fine. I wouldn’t - You can’t know that!”

“Unless someone stopped him, he’s gone,” Natasha said. Her voice was low and even, a terrible certainty tinged with pity tinted her words, making Bucky shiver and his heart clench up. Her eyes were dark, green like the warm seas, and steady on his. She wasn’t speculating.

Bucky sank, slowly to the rocks where they met to talk every week.

“You can’t be sure,” he said weakly, unwilling to accept that Steve, his Steve, was gone. Even as he felt it true, he couldn’t believe in the loss.

Natasha reached out her hand to him and tangled her long fingers in his hair, tugging a little, the way she used when they had been young, offering him comfort in her own way.

“Bucky…”

“He could resist it. Not everyone heeds the song and comes to the water.”

“I called a woman into the ocean once,” Natasha said, and Bucky stilled because it was so rare that she spoke of herself. “She was young and something about her called to me so strongly I couldn’t resist. She came to me, easy as anything, sweet and true and unafraid; found me on the rocks and she talked to me. About her two baby sons she had just given birth to. About her love for them.”

Natasha looked up, her eyes unreadable as she stared into the waters above them.

“I let her go,” Natasha admitted and Bucky opened his mouth, surprised at the announcement. Natasha wasn’t one to hold much love for humans, for anybody, really.

“So it’s possible to let them go?”

“She lasted three weeks before the song overwhelmed her and she walked into the ocean, searching for me. She drowned, not far from the shore; the cold.” Natasha reached for Bucky again. “It’s a hunting song that we sing, Bucky, and it’s only purpose is to kill. Our ancestors took pity on the humans, once, and made the song take away their fear and pain, but the purpose remains the same. We are hunters.” She looked at Bucky again. “And our song is nothing but death for the humans who hear it.”

“There has to be some way…” Bucky began and, to his surprise, Natasha nodded.

“If you had stayed with him,” she said softly. “The pull is to _you_ , Bucky. Not to the water. If he is drawn to you where he can survive…”

“Oh,” Bucky said, closing his eyes. “Did you ever think,” Bucky asked slowly, “that it’s not worth it? That our lives aren’t worth theirs?”

Natasha chuckled, amusement returning to her green eyes.

“Why, Bucky, did this Steve affect you that much? Did you have feelings for the human?”

“I…”

“Don’t lie to me,” Natasha interjected. “I know you better than you know yourself.”

Bucky blushed, but gave her a challenging look.

“Then you tell me what I feel.”

Gaze turning speculative, Natasha looked at him long and slow. At last she said, “You are afraid. You’re afraid of what you feel for the human. That it’s not right. That it’s so strong, you’ll give up the ocean for him if he asks, because you know that what you are, the core of you, he can’t accept. The killer, the hunter; you stand against everything humans are taught to believe. You make him feel like prey when he was taught he was the pinnacle of the food chain. Your very existence is at odds with his worldview.”

Bucky swallowed and closed his eyes because every word was true. Fingers tugged at his hair again and Bucky looked at Natasha hopelessly because he’d killed Steve and he wasn’t sure he could live with that. Wasn’t sure he could risk taking another mortal and making this mistake again.

“To answer your question,” she said, mercifully changing the subject, “no. We have been friends for hundreds of years because of them, because we are hunters. Living as mortals, eating fish? That’s not us, Bucky.”

Bucky had to look away, because this time, he _wasn’t_ sure Natasha was right.

“Why do we do this?” he asked, looking at his hands.

“To keep our immortality,” Natasha responded evenly. She wasn’t like him in that respect. She didn’t yearn for things like he did, like the affection and playfulness Steve had offered him.

“No.” Bucky shook his head. “Why did we start? Why humans? Was there a purpose for this?”

Natasha hummed.

“I don’t remember,” she said finally. “I don’t think anybody does anymore.” Even as she spoke, she kept stroking his hair in slow, meditative movements. “I only know it’s how it always has been. We _are_. We come into being and we know what to do. We feed on the humans, whose death gives us eternal life, and it is that way until we die, or we… fade.” She stroked his hair. “We don’t ask why,” she scolded gently, “because there’s no one to answer the questions anyway.”

Bucky made a face.

“No one really knows where we go? Maybe…” Bucky licked his lips, excitement buzzing in his chest. “Maybe we go to the land; do you think? Maybe?”

Natasha opened her mouth, eyebrows pulling into a frown, so he quickly added, “Would you have stayed with her? The human woman you called, if you had known what would happen if you didn’t? You must have gone back, if you found out she died. You must have talked with someone to find out, so you _must_ have gone back to her.”

Frowning, thinking, Natasha gave him the respect of considering his question.

“No,” she said at last and shook her head, red hair billowing about her. “There was something in the way she talked about her sons… I merely wanted her to live. Nothing more.”

“Natasha,” Bucky said fervently, “you went _back_. You’ve never done that before, or since, have you?”

Natasha smiled a little.

“I find the land a curious place,” she allowed. “I do come out there from time to time, if only to learn what changed. I don’t feel about the humans the way you do.”

“And you just _happened_ to ask about the woman?” Bucky demanded, unable to stop himself because as well as Natasha knew Bucky, he knew her, and it just wasn’t like her. Not even a little.

“I couldn’t forget,” Natasha said finally, “the way she talked about her children.” Swallowing hard, Natasha looked back up as a school of tuna swam over high above them, shimmering in the distant sunlight. “I… I wanted to see her with her children. I wanted to see if what I heard in her voice… if I could see it with my eyes, too.” Closing her eyes in a long, slow blink, Natasha gathered herself before opening them and looking at Bucky again. “She was gone by then, her sons two pale ghosts walking around in black clothes. It wasn’t hard to get the story out of her neighbors, how she had become obsessed with the sea. How she had stared at it for hours and hours, forgetting the family she had claimed to love so much. How one day she walked into the ocean and never came back.”

The thread of regret in Natasha’s voice was one he’d never heard before. Natasha didn’t pity her prey. She was beautiful and powerful, prey coming easily into her clutches. She never talked about her catches as more than simply a meal. Humans were food. Sirens were hunters. That was the world and there were no shades of grey.

“You should go back, Bucky. See with your own eyes and remember why it is a _kindness_ that we eat them after we sing to them.”

 

 

Natasha was a fickle thing, sometimes chasing him away from her meals, sometimes sharing them without a second’s thought. This time was the latter, Natasha being strangely gentle towards Bucky, making sure he ate, not pressing further about his recent land adventures. Now he should have been sleeping at the bottom of the deepest canyon he could find, drifting lazily on the currents with a full belly and quiet mind. Sadly his mind wasn’t quiet.

Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about Natasha’s words. It was the conviction of their kind that they came into being to do this. To hunt humans, feed upon them. There was always a particular flavor to the people who answered the song. There was no ‘good’ or ‘bad’ people that answered the call, but there was something similar about each and every one who came to him. It was as if they wanted to, as if death was closer to them that it was to others. And that was Bucky’s purpose. The humans were his food. They came to him, they died. There was never a place for feelings, for ruminating on what his food thought or felt. Yet here Bucky was, swimming slowly back towards the shore because he couldn’t stop thinking, wondering really, if Steve was still alive, or if the song had already dragged him into the water as Natasha said it would. Had he killed the tiny morsel? Had he killed Steve by trying to help him? The only time Bucky had ever put thought to mercy, to kindness toward the humans and it had ended like this. He’d hardly had a taste of Steve. Hardly had a chance to know him.

And why in the world did he care to _know_ Steve?

Swimming over the cliff that marked the shallows from the deep, he watched the seabed rise towards the shore. He would have to surface soon, mark the cliff’s edges to get himself to Steve’s home. His kind could find their way through the open sea without error, but land was a different matter. When he surfaced, he’d be close to Steve’s home, but not exactly. Bucky didn’t know how the humans did it.

A shadow, too big to be a fish, blocked the moon’s light and Bucky glanced up. It was rare for a shark to attack his kind, but not unheard of. The shadow was no shark, though. A human was swimming, kicking through the waves; easy prey. If he surfaced, saw an empty beach, he could take this one and no one would know. Just another human lost to the ocean.

As Bucky hesitated, deciding if he should catch and store this snack or continue on his way, the human twisted and dived down. Instead of immediately surfacing, the human kept going, swimming against what looked to be a powerful current that wanted to take him back to shore. Then Bucky saw it. A glint of golden hair, thin arms, a slim chest, and the brightest blue eyes. And he kept going, swimming down, not going back up for the air his silly human lungs required to survive. Swimming, Bucky realized with a sinking stomach, towards _him_.

The momentary relief at seeing Steve was washed away by the simple thought. The song was calling to Steve, would call to him for who knew how long, pulling him towards Bucky in the depths. This was it, then. Bucky had to choose. He had to save Steve, bring him back to the land and remain there with him, forsaking his purpose in life, or… he could just watch him drown. Do nothing and all his problems, all this _thinking_ , and _emotion_ would be not be a problem any longer.

Bubbles burst from Steve’s lips and he kept coming, not returning to the surface, not returning for life and air.

Natasha, Bucky thought, would let Steve drown. Would swim away and let him chase her until it was over. Then she’d retrieve her catch and have a happy meal. Which was what Bucky should do, or be merciful and at least slit Steve’s throat. Make it quick. Spill the little human’s blood and eat him. Fulfill their roles in life.

Instead he lunged upwards, towards Steve, arms reaching out to wrap about the skinny shoulders and grip hard. He saw the moment Steve’s blue eyes, wide but glazed, cleared. The moment Bucky touched him, the moment he let the power that enveloped him stretch towards his willing prey, Steve’s lungs gained the ability to pull oxygen from the water. He watched Steve’s lips part in an instinctive gasp, hands flying up to clutch at Bucky’s forearm.

Now the water tasted of blood, Steve’s fingers cut by the sharp fins on Bucky’s forearms, but he didn’t give any indication of pain. He kept staring at Bucky, his eyes wide and shocked, but willing; so lost that, even now, a breath away from death, he wasn’t afraid at all. The song had him in its grips and, for once, Bucky wished it would let go.

Pursing his lips, Bucky pushed more power at him, warming his body, making the chill of the water insignificant as he towed them both towards the shore. He pulled Steve closer to his chest, the shrimp easily fitting against him, as he kicked as hard as he could while his magic propelled them forward. When he saw seafloor change from hard, packed dirt to sandy, wavy patterns, Bucky changed the angle, and swam up until their heads broke the surface. Within moments, his feet could reach the sand and he shifted Steve until he had cradled in his arms. He got them walking, getting his human away from the ocean as fast as he could.

On land, Bucky’s magic didn’t work the same as it had in the sea. When he left the ocean, the protective layer of scales shrunk into his body. Then his magic swirled and Steve began to shiver, pale fingers still clutching at him, staring up at him with his large eyes like he expected Bucky to vanish. It shaped clothes around him, changed his appearance so that he could blend in with the humans, creating a new body he could use to walk right off the beach without anyone being the wiser.

Not yet willing to trust that the song was pulling Steve to Bucky and not the ocean, Bucky waited until they were far enough away from the water that Steve wouldn’t just lunge past and get away. Then he let Steve drop onto the sand, breaking contact and taking the last vestiges of magic protection away, giving Steve control of his body again. The change was instant. Steve began to cough, expelling the water he’d taken into his lungs as his eyes watered. The color of his skin went from pink, to white, and he stumbled away from Bucky, towards the stairs that lead to his house.

A moment later, Steve reversed, grabbing and tugging hard at Bucky’s hand. He didn’t speak, though, still coughing, still spitting up water even as he tried to gasp for air. It looked painful, Bucky thought. Yet Steve tugged and Bucky went, frowning, as his coughing sputtering human led him back to the home on the cliff, through the open front door, where Steve finally let go of him and fumbled, still coughing - which was strange, wasn’t it? Bucky wasn’t sure - with a drawer in the entryway. From it he pulled a small, white object and placed it in his mouth as he inhaled. Then he did it again, pressing down at the top of the thing so it made a strange noise, like sea spraying against rocks. The purpose, though, was quickly apparent. Steve’s coughing eased, his breathing became easier, and little by little the blue that had been appearing against his skin faded.

“You saved me,” Steve said, finally speaking, but he looked uncertain. “You tried to kill me, but you saved me.”

“I never actively tried to kill you,” Bucky muttered trailing after Steve as he glanced at Bucky and went further into the house.

“Then would you care to explain why I’m trying to drown myself? Because if Sam hadn’t pulled me out of the water yesterday, and you hadn’t been there today, I’d be…” Steve swallowed, shooting another glance at Bucky before he went into the room he slept in. “You can’t tell me you haven’t done this to me.”

“I hunt,” Bucky said defensively. “I cast a song and a human answers. It’s not personal. It’s food.” Bucky shrugged. “I have never let a prey go before. I had no idea what would happen after I did it.”

In the bedroom, Steve finally stopped moving away from him. He stepped up to a dresser and began peeling off the soggy, cold, clinging clothes. They weren’t swimming wear, either. Steve had walked down in everyday clothes, not that Bucky really understood why the humans were always covering themselves. He was happy to watch Steve strip down, though, baring all that pale, dripping skin. Bucky licked his lips and thought he knew a better way to warm Steve up than a change of clothes, but his human had other things on his mind.

“How long will I be this way?” Steve asked. “I know I can’t… can’t _leave_. I have to stay here, I _have_ to.” He swallowed, going still for a moment, before yanking on new underwear and loose, white sweatpants and turning to look up at Bucky. “Do you know?

Bucky shook his head mutely, struck by the desperation in Steve’s expression. He looked so different, so much worse than he had been swimming towards Bucky. Then he’d been calm and happy, his fear taken away by the song. Now… Now he thought Natasha was right. It was a mercy to eat them.

Steve’s shoulders sagged, closing his eyes so Bucky only got a glimpse of how sad and terrified he was.

“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?” he asked. “I sent Sam home. I didn’t want… I didn’t want him to see me like this.”

Bucky looked back to the house, which he only now noticed was empty. No sign of humans other than Steve.

“The song… it’s pulling you towards me. Not necessarily the ocean, but definitely to me.”

Steve curled inward, wrapping his arms around his thin chest.

“I can’t ask you to stay with me, can I? And I can’t…” Steve looked toward the beach as if he could feel it the same way Bucky could. “I can’t survive in the water.”

Bucky looked about the empty house, stepping into the hall, though he could sense Steve even if there with walls separating them.

“I can,” Bucky said quietly. When Steve looked up at him, wary and hopeful, he continued, “survive outside of water.” Vaguely, he gestured towards himself, the clothes he was wearing, how his body effortlessly had adjusted itself to the change in conditions. “We just prefer water; it’s not necessary for our survival.”

Tentatively, Steve took a step towards Bucky, eyes so bright they reminded Bucky of the moon on the waves.

“Will you stay?” he whispered, then stretched out a hand, laying it on Bucky’s arm. “There’s a lot you’d have to get used to, but… I could teach you? And you could stay with me.” Steve blushed, a splash of pink over his pale chest and face. “We could have that conversation about me belonging to you?”

“Yeah,” Bucky heard himself say, the image of Steve’s glazed eyes and blue lips still fresh in his mind. “Yeah, okay.”

The dazzling smile that Steve graced Bucky with made it easier to breathe. It was the same as that first time, after they’d been together when he’d playfully bit at his human. That smile was what he thought of when he thought of Steve, and he stepped towards him now, heart beating hard. Yet, he remembered how unwell his human had been before, tasting of disease. Instead of the kiss he wanted, Bucky laid his hand on his human’s neck and frowned.

“You’re too cold,” he declared. “You’re going to get sicker.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve said sarcastically, “whose fault is that?”

Bucky scowled.

“Bed for you.”

Eyeing him, Steve stepped close enough their chests brushed and Bucky wished he wasn’t wearing any clothing so he could feel Steve’s bare skin.

“Join me?”

“Would you rest if I lay with you? I do not think so,“ Bucky sighed, placing his hands on Steve’s shoulders and steering him back into the room, to his bed. “Sick food tastes funny.”

“You like it,” Steve grumbled, but he was climbing onto the bed and beneath the covers. Pulling them up, Bucky tucked them around Steve and then gave in to his desire and pressed a chaste kiss to Steve’s lips.

“Maybe,” Bucky murmured, “but because it’s you, not you being sick.”

Steve sighed.

“You’re worse than Sam.”

Bucky snorted.

“I’m not some kind of human.”

“No,” Steve huffed, “but you mother me like one.” He mimicked Bucky’s voice. “Go to bed, Steve. _Rest_ , Steve.”

“Explain to me then,” Bucky said, drawing the words, “how is it that I, not being a human at all, know how to take better care of a human body then the actual human?”

“Bucky,” Steve said, and he was whining, but it was the first time Steve had said his name, “I’m not going to die if we have sex!” Sighing again, Steve scooted down beneath the blankets and looked up at Bucky. “Will you at least stay in the guest room? Or, er, do you even sleep?”

“I sleep,” Bucky assured, chuckling at the assumption.

As he headed for the door, Steve called, “Bed’s big enough for both of us, you know!”

“Good night, Steve,” Bucky called back, shaking his head, but unable to stop smiling.

“Good night, Bucky.”

Bucky shut the door behind Steve, then went to the room he’d deposited Sam in. He assumed this was the guest room, since Sam didn’t live here, which mean he was a guest and he had slept here. It was of average size, as human rooms went, but it still felt cramped to Bucky. All human dwellings felt cramped, their walls and windows and doors cutting them off from the outside world. He understood they couldn’t take the elements, but it was still so strange. Bucky was used to the ocean all around him, no walls, no windows, nothing between him and the sea. He was used to curling up in a niche, letting the current buffer him and rock him gently to sleep. This forced limitation, the borders humans liked to establish, felt incredibly unnatural.

Piece by piece, Bucky dispelled the clothing he had conjured and, naked, eyed the bed. Tentatively he climbed beneath the covers like Steve had. When he stretched out on his back, he had to admit it wasn’t uncomfortable, though he disliked the way his body was pressed so hard against the mattress. The pillow and comforter were nice, he thought, warming him slowly and cocooning him within his own body heat. It was still strange, though, and Bucky wondered how long it would take to get used to it.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky was surprised to find how well he slept when he woke up the next morning. Sunlight was streaming through the room’s single window, casting golden waves over the bedspread. Stretching, he slipped from the covers, and sniffed. There was a strange scent in the air that took him a moment to place: human cooking. Someone was making food.

Gurgling, his stomach complained that he hadn’t eaten since seeing Natasha. Bucky had never tried human food, but he thought that maybe now would be the time to find out if he could. Who knew how long he’d have to stay to keep Steve from dying, but maybe he wouldn’t have to starve while he did. Especially since then he imagined Steve would look really good to eat…

Leaving the room, Bucky followed his nose to find Steve in the kitchen, humming to himself. A pan of something was frying on the stove and another plate was piled high with something fluffy and brown. As he entered, Steve turned and smiled, then gasped, coughed, and stared. No, not just stared, tracked appreciatively down Bucky’s body. When he followed Steve’s gaze, Bucky realized he hadn’t remembered to conjure back his clothing.

“Well, uh, I thought we’d eat together,” Steve said, his voice a little more nasally than Bucky thought was normal, “but I’ll gladly eat that.”

While Bucky’s cock thought that was a grand idea, Bucky disagreed and used his magic to summon his clothing again. Immediately his stomach rumbled a loud complaint. Loud enough that Steve laughed, turning back to the stove.

“Okay, okay,” Steve chuckled. “Sit down and I’ll bring you a plate. I made bacon and sausage and pancakes. Can you even eat pancakes? I would have asked before I started cooking, but you were asleep.”

Bucky looked at the food and sniffed the air dubiously. It smelled like something fake, and meat, and… something he couldn’t put a name to. It didn’t smell bad, exactly, but he honestly hadn’t a clue if he could eat whatever a pancake was. It didn’t look inedible, but then again, neither did a lot of things that he knew weren’t food.

“Never ate anything but humans,” Bucky shrugged, “Guess I could try a pancake,” he said, the word rolling oddly off his tongue. He wasn’t convinced this was a good idea, but he was going to give this a real shot.

Nose crinkling, Steve shook his head.

“Well at least you’re trying, I guess. Especially when I’m the only human about.”

‘“Yes,” Bucky nodded. “You look very tasty.”

Steve winced and glanced at Bucky.

“Thanks. I think. Not sure that’s a good thing, though.”

Bucky furrowed his brows, confused why Steve didn’t like his compliment. It was the highest one he could give. It kind of hurt that Steve didn’t appreciate it at all. Well, thinking about it, he could understand why Steve wouldn’t want to be considered food.

“Why? I mean most humans I know look either tasty, or not tasty. You are definitely in that first category, and you are also good at sex,” Bucky added as an afterthought while giving Steve a nice, long look over.

“Don’t you look at me like that now, mister,” Steve huffed, color rising high on his cheeks. “I’ve tried to get you into bed three times and been rebuffed at each turn.”

“You didn’t look very tasty then,” Bucky grumbled, remembering the clammy skin and dark circles beneath his eyes. No, Steve hadn’t looked tasty at all.

“You’re incorrigible,” Steve huffed. “Bucky, I’m not food. This is food.”

The plates Steve carried over were piled high with pancakes, sausage, and bacon. He set each in the center of the table, then started filling the empty plates in front of Bucky and Steve. While Steve only took one pancake and several pieces of sausage and bacon, he gave Bucky twice as much, and then some.

At first Bucky just stared, watching Steve prepare his food because he didn’t just _eat_ it. He cut some of the pale yellow rectangle sitting amidst the rest of the food and smeared it over his pancake. Then he poured a bottle labeled ‘syrup’ over that before using the silverware to cut up the lot into small bites. That, at least, Bucky could relate to, even if the silverware itself was awkward in his hands.

Bucky looked from the food to Steve, and then back again. He couldn't feel any life force from Steve’s food; no sense the energy in it the way he did from the humans he lured into the ocean with his song.

“What is the food for?” Bucky asked, shifting closer to it.

The look Steve gave him was a bit strange, like he wasn’t sure if Bucky was serious or not.

“What do you mean? You _eat_ , don’t you? Just… people?”

Bucky nodded.

“We exist to hunt them. That’s our sole purpose. To call the chosen ones into the water.”

“Um,” Steve eyed him, “no offense meant, but that seems like a… depressing purpose.”

“Why?” Bucky asked. To hear it being discarded so easily as worthless was disturbing. “It’s what I am, the purpose of my life. The moment I opened my eyes, I knew what I was supposed to do. I was fully equipped, fully formed to serve this purpose.”

“But… that’s it?” Steve said, looking uncomfortable and no longer meeting Bucky’s gaze. “Do you have anything besides the… hunting? Do you… create things? Have families? Friends?”

Bucky looked at Steve, at his eyes, blue as the sky, darting to him and away again, unwilling to keep the contact for long.

“I…” he paused, understanding maybe for the first time how much larger Steve’s life was than his; how broader the boundaries. In the ocean, life was simple; the cycle of hunting and sleeping a constant that carried him through his life. “We do not have families like you. We are not born,” he explained haltingly, raising his hand to his head and tangling his fingers into his hair the way Natasha would sometimes. “Usually, when we come to be, there is another there; somewhere close. We don’t require… teaching, but it’s nice, having them close.”

The words made him think of Natasha and the way it had felt to spend time with her. The sense of companionship, the security of knowing there was at least one other who knew his name, who would look for him if he disappeared one day.

“Are you friends with them?” Steve pressed, brows drawn together as he poked at his meal. “The other… of your kind?”

Bucky tilted his head, thinking of the term Steve used, of what he knew of humans and the way they applied the term. “Maybe?” he offered hesitantly. “There are not many of us, and most are not willing to share their space with others. Nat is as likely to bloody me as to share her meal.”

“Well, that’s what I mean,” Steve said, curling his hand tight about his fork. “Not having my family, or my friends, or my art would be really depressing. So… if all you have is… hunting...” Steve took a breath. “Do you hunt anything else? Fish? Or just humans?”

“As much as I understand how humans are built, you require a lot of food, but it doesn’t work for you the way it works for us. That’s why we only eat humans; fish isn’t nearly the same.”

Steve glanced up at him, but held eye contact this time, and that was better. Bucky liked that more.

“What do you mean? Like… taste?”

Bucky shook his head.

“Texture?” Steve’s face was all scrunched up, his face changing colors from the normal pale pink to… kind of greenish-white. Bucky found he didn’t like that color on Steve’s face.

“No. You grant us life.”

“Uh, well, food grants _me_ life,” Steve said. “I mean, I’d die without it pretty quickly.”

Bucky chuckled.

“Yes, but for us… Humans live very short lives. Sirens do as well, if we forsake our purpose. When we embrace it, we will live until the seas dry.”

“Oh,” Steve said weakly. Ducking his head, he toyed with his pancakes again. “So, if you stay with me, you’re… gonna starve? Or are you gonna,” Steve made a face, “find another way to… feed?”

“There is no other way, as far as I know. Only hunting the _humans_ serves the purpose.”

Frowning, Steve opened his mouth, and then shut it again. Holding something back. Bucky liked that as much as he’d liked how uncomfortable Steve had been before.

“What?”

“I don’t… I mean, it’s not nice… exactly, but… I mean…”

“Steve,” Bucky said with an exasperated sigh, “just say it.”

“Well, there’s my way,” Steve said in a rush. “The human way.”

“It means throwing my own life away,” Bucky said quietly.

Looking up, Steve leaned forward, then took Bucky’s hand, tight in his small, delicate one.

“It doesn’t have to,” Steve said, so fervent and passionate, Bucky found himself leaning forward. “There can be more to life than… taking.”

Bucky stared into Steve’s eyes, wondering if he could believe what the human was saying. It was a logical choice to agree to live on land for a little while. Steve couldn’t live in the water, but Bucky could live both in the water and on land. Now, looking at the tiny man in front of him, Bucky wondered for how long he would have to live here? A few days? Weeks? Months?

When would the song fade away? Would it even fade at all? He wasn’t sure. He didn't know and nobody knew. Not him, not Natasha, not any of their kind. There were stories that they passed on to new arrivals, stories about their purpose, told from one siren to the next, but none of them knew where they came from, or even if they were true anymore.

It occurred to Bucky for the first time in his long life, that feeding on land wouldn’t be easy. It might not even be possible. The ocean was his territory, the waters chock full of magic; the currents, the weather, all there at his command. No human could ever hope to control the ocean; all they could do was pray it wouldn’t kill them each time they ventured into it. On land, it was a different matter. He had his magic, but it was harder to use, more exhausting than in the sea which amplified his powers exponentially. If he stayed here, Bucky would be vulnerable, dependant on others, and upon human whims. It was not a concept Bucky was familiar with, and he didn’t how to possibly begin to find help.

“You don’t have to answer now,” Steve said gently, eyes so bright and with little flecks of green that Bucky hadn’t noticed before this moment. “While you’re staying here, I can… If you want, I mean, show you how I live, and you can decide if you want stay later.”

Bucky looked back at Steve, not saying a thing, not knowing what to say to such a brash suggestion. He didn't want to take Steve’s smile away from him though. He liked how it changed his face, how it made him look more alive than ever. Looking at the pancakes that Steve had mostly ignored, Bucky thought it wouldn’t hurt to try them.

Mimicking how Steve had prepared his food, Bucky picked up the blunt, useless knife and sliced off a bit of the yellow stick. That he smeared over his pancakes, then followed it up with the contents of the bottle. It didn’t look very appetizing, but he cut the fluffy food like he’d seen Steve do, with his fork, and stabbed it on the trident-like tines. When he looked up at Steve and brought it to his mouth, his human broke out into a radiant grin, the one Bucky remembered, the one he liked. So it was easy to put the human food into his mouth and chew.

To his surprise, it was rather good.

 


	6. Chapter 6

After breakfast, Steve had said he needed to work. After an explanation that had left Bucky confused and pitying any and all humans for their weird society, he had followed Steve into the room at the back of the house. The first thing Bucky noticed was the heat. The workshop was sweltering hot, the air dry, and he could smell the scent of superheated sand like after a bad storm. Steve had put on old jeans and a t-shirt, not the sexiest clothes Bucky had ever seen, especially as both looked to have been burned at least once. It was all really unimpressive. Stone - concrete, he reminded himself - a great big stove - the crucible, Steve had said - and tables and tools and great bins of colored glass. Bucky took a seat in the corner, now understanding why Steve had as much upper body toning as he did when he picked up a heavy, hollow steel pole and bring it to the crucible. Absently Bucky wondered when Steve had fired it up, because he doubted it was safe to leave something that powerful on for so long without supervision, and it was powerful. Steve was already sweating.

Then Steve actually started working and Bucky could only stare in fascination, mouth hanging open. The molten glass came out of the crucible and Steve shaped it with his breath and the metal table, rolling it in crushed sand - colored glass, Steve explained - and putting it back in the crucible. Over and over Steve repeated the motions and Bucky stared, wide-eyed, as he shaped the red, liquid sand into… well, something. Bucky couldn’t have said what. Hell, he couldn’t say what the colors were until the glass dried. Everything was a strange shade of orange, or red, then cooled to blue and green and even white. He tried to guess a few times, but each time Steve took it from the crucible, he changed it so it was a little different, a little new, and Bucky was very, very far off.

There was something incredibly mesmerising in the absolute focus Steve was putting into creating this piece, the way his face was flushed from the heat, his hair damp with sweat. There was beauty in what he did, in the act of creation, that Bucky had never experienced before. His kind did not create.

When Steve finally used a strange, metal cone - opening the large cylinder, shaping with the pliers, opening it more, shaping it, over and over - he realized the green and blue and white object was a vase. It bore the color of the of the sea in bright sunlight, but it was undoubtedly a vase. A vase like an ocean wave, only growing more and more like one as Steve twisted the edges, folding them, plucking and somehow shaping the fiery glass into something that Bucky could have mistaken for foam.

Bucky thought he could stay here to watch Steve work endlessly. There wasn't any other place he would rather be.

“It’s beautiful,” Bucky said as Steve set the vase in the large box where it would cool without getting ruined. “Thank you for… showing me.”

“I didn’t show you,” Steve said, getting close, but not trying to touch Bucky. “I taught you. You had some great questions. I can teach you more, if you want.” He shoved his sweat-darkened hair out of his face. “You don’t have to try it if you don’t want, but I haven’t had an apprentice in ages and the work is easier when you’re not alone. Plus,” Steve glanced at his shoes, “you seemed to like it, and we could do it all the time if you stay.”

Bucky blinked, staring intently at Steve. The words had seemed so casual, yet ‘all the time’ was, well _all_ the time.

“All the time?” he asked, bewildered. There was never talk about Steve staying with him beyond the time required for the song to fade.

“Yeah,” Steve said, tucking his hands under his arms, and Bucky was suddenly very aware of how the slight man had gotten so many muscles, “I mean, it’s how I make my living and… and working with me might be fun?”

“No,” Bucky interrupted sharply, reaching to catch Steve’s arm and pull him close. “What do you mean ‘all the time’.” He fought the urge to shake Steve, but he needed him to answer. Clearly. In a way that would leave no misunderstanding.

“P-probably every day? I have to sell a lot of pieces…”

Steve gasped as Bucky tightened his hold too much.

“You asked me to give up my immortality,” Bucky interrupted again. “Is your life what you offer in exchange?”

Wincing, Steve tugged at Bucky’s hold, trying to get away.

“Isn’t my life what I’m offering if you leave?” Steve asked, now reaching and trying to pry Bucky’s hand open. “Is this another conversation like I belong to you?”

“Do not start that again,” Bucky huffed, shaking his head impatiently. Humans; no sense of propriety. “If I leave, it’s your death that you offer. Not your life.”

“Then,” Steve gave up trying to escape him and met Bucky’s gaze, “what’s it mean if I offer you my life?”

“A deal,” Bucky said, tasting the weight of the word on his tongue and his magic. “I stay on land, but you stay with me.” He let go some of the glamour on his face, let hints of his nature show. “If you break the deal, I’ll…”

Bucky trailed off. Steve had gone still, blinking at him in fear. Now he huffed. If Bucky hadn’t known better, he’d say the tiny morsel was glaring at him.

“I was already offering that, jerk. Now you’re hurting me; let go.”

Bucky looked down at the hand he had wrapped around Steve’s arm, at the way the flesh was already starting to bruise and loosened his grip, but did not let go entirely. Something inside him, his magic, maybe even his soul was waiting, quivering on the edge of some kind of breakthrough. He needed to hear Steve accept the deal. _Needed_ it.

“Say it,” he insisted, his heart beating wildly in his chest. “Say the words.” his glamour was slipping, his magic was coliling loosely around them, picking up dust and other particles around them, spinning them through the air.

“Wh-what?” Steve asked, and the fear was back in his blue eyes. That wasn’t what Bucky wanted, not that, but he was predator and Steve prey.

“Do you accept the deal?” Bucky repeated.

“I already said yes,” Steve said, fear warring with irritation, the human not knowing how important this was.

Bucky shook his head and the magic whirled, more volatile than ever. The currents it was generating were a visible disturbance around them, picking up objects larger than particles and spinning them in faster and faster. They stood in the middle of it, in the eye of a storm, and there was something endless and aching inside Bucky’s chest, like a hook just behind his ribs, pulling and jerking. This was important, here and now. In this moment, it was important that Steve said the right words. The only words that would matter.

“Do you accept the deal?” Bucky asked again, struggling to keep the power out of his voice. Steve needed to accept of his own free will, needed to make that choice himself. Using his song or his magic, even by accident, would ruin everything.

“Yes!” Steve shouted at him. “Yes, I accept, just -”

Steve didn’t get the opportunity to finish.  
Everything stopped. Between one heartbeat and the next all movement in the room ended. All sound disappeared. It was as if they were standing in the middle of a picture. Bucky’s magic became heavy and tangible as the words rang in Bucky’s ears with the power of a hurricane.

“I too,” Bucky said hoarsely, “accept the deal.”

The sound came back, the air was free of magic now, settled somewhere under his ribs. His eyes flicked to the reddened patch of skin that would bruise later on Steve’s arm and he healed it with a thought. He never meant to cause Steve harm, but humans were so fragile. Steve especially so.

“Wh-what just happened?” Steve asked, staring at Bucky. He was still nervous, but the fear was gone.

“We made a deal,” Bucky explained. Seeing the bewildered expression remain on Steve’s face, Bucky reminded himself again that humans, as a rule, did not possess magic. “I am not a creature that is born. I came into being, and my magic is rooted to my existence. Unlike humans, my promises do not depend on ever-changing will. They are sealed with magic.”

“A-and my promise was, too?” Steve stammered, looking a little alarmed.

“Don’t you feel it?” Bucky asked as he became aware of a difference in Steve. The pull had changed. The subtle aura of a marked human was now gone from Steve. “The song is broken.”

Blinking quickly, Steve’s eyes went distant, and then he abruptly lashed out, fist striking Bucky in the chest.

“Did you just _marry_ me without telling me?!”

Bucky blinked.

“Isn’t marriage something you do for money? Or land ownership?”

“Not _anymore_ ,” Steve cried.

“Huh,” Bucky wondered, bewildered by the sudden and inexplicable change in human customs. “When did that change?”

“Oh my god,” Steve pressed his hands to both sides of his face, “you married me and didn’t tell me we were doing it.” Steve hit Bucky again. “You _ass_ hole! You have to _tell_ a guy these things! We don’t even have rings. None of that was right!”

As angry as he seemed, one thing was very clear to Bucky as he stared at Steve. The song which had pulled them together, had made Steve want him, wasn’t affecting him now, and yet he wasn’t afraid. He didn’t want Bucky to leave. He was upset about some details that were probably another custom Bucky didn’t understand.

“So, make it right,” Bucky said simply.

Steve froze, mouth open, brows drawn together in a heavy line.

“Okay,” he declared, the word an accusation. “I will.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, feeling himself smile.

“Kiss me,” Steve demanded. “That’s, it’s - You have to kiss me if you just married me.”

Bucky smiled wider, pleased. He could obey this custom no problem.

“Any other new customs related to marriage I should learn?” he asked as he reached for Steve again, pulling him close to his chest. The little shrimp fit easily into his arms.

Steve nodded.

“Rings. You have to wear mine and I’ll wear yours, so we show… We show people you belong to me, and I belong to you. And… And a honeymoon. We don’t have to travel, but you are taking me to bed, damn it. I have waited long enough; you’re giving me my wedding night.”

“But,” Bucky protested, “you’re sic-”

“I don’t care,” Steve snapped. “You married me without telling me.”

“You accepted, you said you are giving me your life,” Bucky protested the accusatory tone. It was all so clear, he had even repeated himself more than once. Hell, he hadn’t even taken a simple ‘yes’ for an answer, made Steve say the whole thing. Bucky was sure he had done it right.

Steve did not agree, it seemed.

“Yeah, I did, so kiss me and fuck me later, or I’ll make _your_ life unhappy.”

“I like sex,” Bucky admitted lowering his lips to the pale pink ones he had missed. “Want to have more of it with you.”

“Lots of it,” Steve said encouragingly.

Laughing, because his human was so damn pushy, Bucky pressed their lips together. A deal, as he knew it, but marriage… Well, Bucky thought he could get used to a lot of human customs if they sealed their deals like this.

 

 

Bucky, Steve had discovered, was fascinated with television. At least, so long as Steve was there to answer his questions, like whether or not people _actually_ were that stupid, or why humans hadn’t known about aliens (Steve had choked on his popcorn at that one). So they spent a lot of time on the couch. Since Bucky hadn’t settled on a genre preference, Steve was catching up on all the movies Sam had said he just had to see.

They’d just finished _Before We Go_ , the two main characters having parted ways, and Steve was sniffling into a tissue as Brooke was finding Nick’s note. Smiling even as he teared up, he chanced a glance at Bucky who was just… glaring at the screen as the credits began to roll.

“Bucky?” Steve asked slowly.

“Why didn’t it show them getting back together?” Bucky demanded.

“B-because,” Steve stumbled, surprised by how unhappy Bucky sounded, “it’s for the viewer to decide if they meet again, or if she gives her husband another chance, or even if they really love each other.”

Bucky turned to him, his glamor flickering in his agitation. Admittedly, he liked it better when Bucky didn’t have the glamor up, but he didn’t think it was a good idea to suggest it. If anyone saw…

“But they belong together. Why are they not together?”

Opening his mouth, Steve could only close it again. He was getting that feeling that this wasn’t about what he thought it was, or what it sounded like.

“If you want them to be,” Steve decided to say, “then they are.”

Frowning, but at least not agitated, Bucky sat back and crossed his arms. Leaning over, Steve chanced pressing a quick peck to his cheek, and then got up. They needed to eat before putting in a little more work for the day, so he had to fire the crucible up, and then start cooking. Bucky was a _terrible_ cook. In the workshop, he turned about after getting the crucible roaring, and found Bucky immediately behind him.

Heart in his throat, Steve took a half step back and froze, knowing better than to get any closer to the crucible without watching where he was going.

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve snapped, and only then took in Bucky’s face. It was drawn, mouth pinched, eyes quite literally glowing. It had been a while since Bucky had hurt him outside of sex, not since they had had their conversation about acceptable manhandling, but he was still expecting it at times like this. “What?”

“I love you.”

Steve blinked rapidly, trying to process Bucky’s expression with the words. “What?” he said again, because he couldn’t. Bucky hadn’t ever said the words. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Steve, he did, Steve just didn’t think he understood them, not when he’d never had a reference to the emotion.

“The man, Nick. He was talking around it. He never said it. I think it’s why she didn’t stay.”

“Okay?” Steve said slowly.

“I love you,” Bucky declared again and Steve swallowed. “I love you; please stay.”

“Oh, Bucky,” Steve breathed, stepping to his undine and sliding his arms around his waist. “Bucky, we’re not Nick and Brooke. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” Bucky said, “but maybe I’m Brooke and you’re the husband, or I’m Nick and you’re the girlfriend and I… I love you. Stay.”

Pushing himself onto his tiptoes, Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s lips and relaxed as his undine held him so tightly, yet so tenderly.

“I love you,” Steve promised, “I’ll stay.”

The End

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come and visit us on Tumblr
> 
> [xantissa](http://xantissa.tumblr.com)  
> [Cleo4u2](http://cleo4u2.tumblr.com)  
> [hopeless-geek](http://hopeless--geek.tumblr.com/)


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